


Planes of Destiny

by Grushenka



Series: Planes of Destiny [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Planescape: Torment
Genre: F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mutilation, Romance, Sadism, Sexual Content, Throne of Bhaal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-02-09 07:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 106,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grushenka/pseuds/Grushenka
Summary: This is the story of my fighter/mage Nessa's adventures through the events of the Throne of Bhaal. I will be bringing in Planescape content via the side story Soldier of Entropy which runs parallel to PoD.Draws inspiration from Aeryn Phoenix's Haer'Dalis and Sarevok mods.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [ @igrushenka](https://igrushenka.tumblr.com/)

I am adding portraits for the characters. I did not create any of these, I found them. I'll list each of the artists with the picture.

Nessa:

 

This is from a Dragon Age tarot card. I edited it in paint to remove the tattoos and change the eyecolor. 

 

Haer'Dalis:

 

 

I imagine him a bit more muscular, sinewy even. This is a beautiful picture though, by sabalmirss.

 

I also edited (very poorly) a picture I found from Werlioka on deviantart. This is more how I imagine a pre-BG HD.  I've added fey'ri to his background in my story, hence the elven appearance. 

 

 

Sarevok:

 

 

This one is from a slider posted by a deleted reddit account. I think it's a character they made in dark souls to look like Sarevok? Not entirely sure. 

\----------------------------

 

 

 

They stood, huddled together, in the dark cocoon of her “father’s” abyssal realm.

“I cannot believe you would even consider--,” Jaheira sputtered, her words barely slipping past her gritted teeth.

“He killed Gorion!” Imoen interrupted, her eyes brimming with tears. “He tried to start a war...he...he nearly killed you, not just once, but twice.” Her voice was shaking. “You just got your soul back from one psychopath, and now…” She cast a poisonous glance towards the yawning mouth of teeth that was the entrance of the plane. “Now another one wants a piece of it.”

Sarevok stood off in the distance, his figure partially obscured in strange shadows that swirled around him.

“I cannot support this kind of foul magic, this unnatural necromancy,” Jaheira spat.

Valygar stood beside her, his brows knitted and his face dark, but unreadable. “Don’t you agree?” Jaheira demanded. Valygar said nothing.

“I do not know this man, but I have heard of his exploits in Baldur’s Gate.” The paladin Keldorn was thumbing over the hilt of Carsomyr thoughtfully. “This is a strange place, and a strange time...if the gods have been ordered not to interfere, then I am afraid I can offer you no advice in this matter.”

He looked up, his eyes locked on the spot where Irenicus had fallen, mere days before.

“You have been a force for good in this world, I trust that your better judgment will prevail in this, as it has in other matters.”

The paladin’s words hit Nessa like a wall of fire. _A force for good..._ that felt like the last thing she had been. Innumerable days of torture, months of searching for Imoen, weeks of racing through the Underdark, so many corpses left in her wake. The drow were evil, that was clear, but she would never forget the blood nearly pouring through the streets of Ust Natha. They had been detected as they exited the temple after the failed demonic summoning. It was either kill them, or be killed. How many times did she repeat that to herself, how many nights did she lay awake reminding herself kill or be killed. But it wasn’t just her life, if it was only her life she would have already given up. Her friends, her heart...they wouldn’t let her go.

“My raven, can I have a word with you?” Haer’Dalis’ gentle voice cut through the darkness of Nessa’s memories. An unusually warm hand glided over hers and clasped it tightly.

“Of course,” she replied. They moved away from the group to a private spot beneath one of the grotesque statues that littered the main cavern of the pocket plane.

Haer’Dalis’ dark eyes met hers, and she felt tears begin to well. The hesitation that had been there for weeks, since the events at Spellhold, was gone. He looked at her with the same tenderness that had warmed her heart during their journeys together through Amn.

“My dove, are these tears on my account, or is it the harsh words of your female companions that wound you so?”

His look of concern changed quickly to surprise as she roughly grabbed his marked face with both hands and pressed a feverish kiss against his lips. The kiss lingered for a few moments and Nessa could feel the heat from his body as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I can assure you this is a much better experience of the Abyss than last we were here, my love.” She rested her head on his chest, unwilling to let go of him yet. She hadn’t felt alive in weeks, Haer’Dalis was her connection to the part of her that had been drowned in darkness.

“I can’t make this decision,” she said, her mind soothed by the gentle thump of his heartbeats.

“Of course you can, my dove, you must,” he replied. His arms moved from her waist to her hair, and his fingers snaked through the braids that surrounded her face.

“This soldier of entropy has no desire to see death undone, but I have become accustomed to all manner of strange happenings in your company. Alas, did you not hear the words of the Solar? ‘Hold your heart close, and know that you are not alone?’ I do not think she was referring to your present company, my love.”

“What?” Nessa’s head jerked up in surprise.

“Fate is not a string, but a web, and we are all caught in its tragic embrace...”

Nessa sighed. “I love you, but is this really the time for doomguard-ery?”

Haer’Dalis smirked, his eyes sparkling with their usual mischief. “It pains this sparrow that my words fail to move you, my raven, but I mean them still...no one knows the path of destiny,” His eyes became a bit darker, and his expression more serious. “I sense the meddlesome fingers of the gods in these matters. To them you are at best a tool, and at worst a threat.” He paused for a moment, as if catching himself. She felt his chest heave with a gentle sigh.

“I do not wish to see you hurt, but I know that it cannot be avoided,” he said, and hugged her tightly. “Know that I will follow your lead in this, as in all things.”

The tension melted out of Nessa’s body. Haer’Dalis always seemed to strengthen her resolve.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and kissed him. His lips were hot, and she could feel feel desire in his hands as they moved from her waist down to the roundness of her hips.

“Later,” she murmured between kisses. Haer’dalis’ grip on her backside tightened, and she pulled her face away from his, her mouth agape in mock offense.

“In front of my brother?”

Haer’Dalis laughed. He released his grasp on her and left one more gentle kiss lingering on the tip of her nose.

She straightened up and turned back towards both her companions and her undead half-brother. She took a deep breath, and braced herself for the impact of her decision. It wasn’t even a question, to her, Sarevok had haunted her ever since their final meeting. The guilt she felt had been a lodestone around her neck. It was lessened somewhat by finding out Imoen was also a Bhaalspawn, yet had managed not to become a bloodthirsty monster, but it still hung there nonetheless.

 _I was Sarevok’s mentor, and tutored him in the blackest of rituals...if he were to succeed...my name would live on in his wake._ Those were the last words of his tutor, Winski Perorate.

Her mentor, Gorion, he had died to save her life. Even if not to save her life, to save the thousands of lives that would be destroyed by the Bhaalspawn. He must have hoped that raising her in Candlekeep would keep her from being controlled by the taint in her blood. He must have thought that she could fulfill the prophecy, or change it somehow. But Winski...he would die for his own immortality in the annals of history. To live on forever as the tutor of the new Lord of Murder.

Rieltar, Sarevok’s foster father, was a monster who cared only about his own fortune. Even his lover, Tamoko, wanted to possess Sarevok. She didn’t want to lose Sarevok to godhood or death, even though she had supported him in his efforts and sought his favor through murder and deceit. Tamoko’s declarations of supposed ‘love’ for Sarevok made Nessa sick. Both of his sycophantic “lovers” threw themselves on her sword in a doomed attempt at winning his favor. If she herself had been surrounded by such people….she shuddered at the thought.

She had been surrounded by loving, caring friends and companions. Lovers, even. She had to find out if this was the difference between her and her brother, or if he really was just a monster, through and through. She had to know if this was her destiny, to be just like him. As more Bhaalspawn died, she grew stronger...the whispers were louder. A spray of blood on her face was becoming less disgusting and more exhilarating. The cries of her enemies as they fell beneath her, the fires of war burning, the cries of those left be--

She shook her head, as if to shake the voice out of her head.

She knew that she didn’t have a choice anyways, she never really did when it came to him. She either gave him what he wanted or he wouldn’t tell them how to exit the pocket plane. Kill or be killed. He told her that in Baldur’s Gate, that either she would kill him or he would kill her. He would never allow any other option. Sarevok Anchev, bloodthirsty monster and master manipulator. Like father, like son.

But she hesitated because of her companions. Imoen had been so gravely wounded by Irenicus, both physically and emotionally. Could she stand to fight alongside the man who murdered Gorion? Would it be too much? Imoen was a kind person, but she had a vengeful streak that had only been amplified by her experiences at Irenicus’ hands. Would fighting with Sarevok hurt Keldorn’s reputation and standing with the Radiant Heart? Could Jaheira come to terms with Sarevok’s presence, especially if his life went against her “natural order”? Valygar had suffered much from the poison of necromancy in his family, could he respect her if she decided to resurrect her dead brother? Was it wrong?

Haer’Dalis believed in only one truth, entropy, the end of all things. Not bringing things back or reanimating them after they were long dead. Even a doomguard thought necromancy was wrong-headed.

But did she?

If she was honest with herself, the lines of right and wrong had been blurring. It was becoming more and more difficult to figure out what was right, because the ends were almost always justifying the means. The alternative was often too terrible to even consider. _Kill or be killed._

“Everyone, I’ve made my decision, can you please come here?” she said. Her voice sounded more confident than she felt.

Imoen and Jaheira approached her first. Jaheira looked as if she had resigned herself to the outcome she knew was coming, but Imoen refused to make eye contact with Nessa. Keldorn and Valygar quietly stepped up behind them. Haer’Dalis remained back, within hearing distance but leaning against the macabre statue.

The group turned towards Sarevok. His shadowy visage was unreadable.

“Have you made your decision, dear _sister_?” His ephemeral lips curled into a snarl at the last word.

“What do you plan to do with your life, if I bring you back?” Nessa asked.

“I...I do not know. My ambition was everything, but with the taint gone…” he hesitated, and a dark emotion flashed across his face. “I will avoid crossing you, that is for certain.”

“You leave me with no choice, and you know it. I agree to your bargain.”

Sarevok’s lips parted in a cruel smile.

“No gift could please me more.”

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

The battle was long and hard, but it was over. _Retribution._ It was something she worried about, often. She had killed so many people. What about their families, their friends, their lives? Snuffed out in an instant. Monsters, drow, humans, it didn’t matter. They were all dead.

The group had decided to settle for the night in the pocket plane. Sleeping in a cocoon in the abyssal realm made everyone except Haer’Dalis nervous, but it was safer than venturing out into the unknown. Saradush could wait until tomorrow. They had met Cespenar, who was apparently some kind of butler-imp. He had graciously conjured up a table full of food, some bedrolls, and even private tubs and hot water for bathing. The little guy was busy cleaning her robes and she couldn’t wait to clean her hair. She had asked Cespenar to make her bathing and sleeping area separated from everyone else’s, a bar of soap wasn’t the only thing she couldn’t wait to get her hands on.

The tension was thick in the air. The group sat at the table, silently eating the lavish meal set out before them. Everyone was looking down at their plates, except Haer’Dalis, of course. He was humming to himself while eating a chunk of bread. His eyes roamed across the vast expanse of the pocket plane, as if he was trying to record every detail to memory.

Everyone else was avoiding the figure looming at the end of table. Sarevok. The warrior was like a statue, a giant, marble, rather intimidating statue. He did not eat, but only stared down at the table. She could see him hesitantly clenching his fists, then opening them and inspecting his upturned palms. He hasn’t been alive in a year, maybe more, she thought to herself. I wonder if he feels different.

Her musings were interrupted by Imoen. Her sister’s face had been growing stormier by the minute, and Nessa knew she was going to blow up sooner or later. Imoen had a short fuse, and was blunt even when she wasn’t angry.

“Why in the Nine Hells would you let him join us?” Imoen hissed. “This...this…*murderer*! This monster, it’s bad enough you gave him a piece of your soul but now, everything is forgiven? Just like that? Who is next, Irenicus?! What would Gorion say if he could see this?!” She shot up out of her seat and pointed a long, slender finger at Nessa. “Mark my words Nessa, Sarevok will destroy you, like he destroys everything.” With that she spun around and stalked away from the table.

Sarevok sat silently. If Imoen’s words angered him, he didn’t show it.

“I agree!” Jaheira snapped. “You did not even require an oath? What kind of perverted bargain is this? You give everything, he gives nothing, and you do not even protect yourself against his inevitable treachery? Bah! If I had not spent years of my life with you, if I did not pledge to Gorion to protect you, I would have nothing to do with you and this abomination.”

Jaheira stood up, and flung her plate of food across the table. “I have nothing further to say on this, maybe sense will return to you in the morning, if you survive the night.” The half-elven druid shot Sarevok a withering glare, then turned and left as well.

Their words cut through Nessa. She knew they would be angry, knew they would be disappointed, but she honestly hadn’t thought about what Gorion would say. She would like to think that he would understand, that he would see the tightrope she was balancing on and know that choices weren’t so simple anymore. She needed allies, and if she was being honest with herself, she needed Sarevok’s knowledge. Blindly stumbling around was not going to work anymore. Her enemies were powerful quasi-gods, not just some fucked-up former elf with a grudge.

She felt Haer’Dalis’ hand move onto her knee. She always felt selfish, allowing herself to be comforted by him, relying on him. Khalid was long-dead and Jaheira never really dealt with her grief, Imoen was still recovering from Irenicus, Keldorn hadn’t seen his family in months, and Valygar had resolved to end his bloodline. But all of that was out of her control, and she needed someone to keep her tethered to the real world. The mortal world.

“Aye, my raven, ‘tis a most unexpected twist of the plot that is unfolding. But do not let their anger wound you, we are all in need of rest. Mayhaps the morning will bring brighter spirits.”

She nodded weakly, and glanced over at Sarevok. His face had not changed, and his eyes were still fixed on the table. She thought she could see a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I do not fear treachery, but I do not expect it either,” Keldorn said. He stood up and gave Nessa his usual warm, fatherly smile. “If you could offer up the traitorous thief's heart for Ilmater’s compassion, then I have no doubt of your capacity for forgiveness. I will not judge you for being a better man than I.”

Valygar nodded silently. He looked over at Sarevok, who still had not moved. “Aye, I’ll judge your brother by actions, not others’ words.”

Nessa felt a wave of gratitude surge in her chest. She was so fortunate to have these men, these friends, in her life. Imoen and Jaheira were angry, and they had a right to be. Valygar, Keldorn, and Haer’Dalis were not there in Baldur’s Gate. They didn’t fight the doppelgangers in Candlekeep. They weren’t hunted down by assassins. They weren’t there when Nessa lay dying on the ground, Sarevok standing over her, ready to plunge his sword in her heart. He was dying, too, but she thought it was over for both of them. Little did she know that Imoen had drunk her last invisibility potion and crept up behind Sarevok. Her dagger slid quickly in between his armor, and before they knew it, he was gone. His sword came clattering to the ground, but he was no more. Imoen stood there, shocked, her torso covered in blood that had gushed out of his wound. Jaheira was out of healing spells but rushed to Nessa’s side and poured a healing potion into her mouth. Nessa was so certain she was dying, and in that moment, she almost hoped she would. She knew that this would not be the last sibling who would try to kill her. It was her destiny.

Sarevok’s low voice interrupted her thoughts. “I…” he said, then hesitated. He glanced up at Valygar, his once golden, glowing eyes now a light brown. “I...thank you, ranger.”

“Call me Valygar.” The ranger pushed away from the table. “I’m off to get some rest, I suggest you all do the same.”

“I, too, must rest. These old bones tire more easily than I would like to admit,” Keldorn said. The paladin nodded curtly, in his usual polite way, and then headed towards his bedroll.

“Shall we also retire, my dove?” Haer’Dalis asked, his hand still resting on her leg. She could feel the warmth of his skin melting into hers, sometimes she felt like she fed off of the life that pulsed in him.

“Yes, but um--Sarevok?” she said, her bright green eyes darting nervously to meet her brother’s cold stare.

“Yes?” he growled.

“I asked Cespenar to prepare a bath and a bedroll for you. If you need anything else, please ask him, make yourself comfortable here.” She thought she saw a hint of suspicion flicker in his eyes. “Also if you need any equipment, we can go through what I have on hand in the morning. I think we have better items than what you...uh…”

“What I was resurrected with?” Sarevok asked. His stare lingered, and it began to feel like a challenge.

“Yes. That. So...goodnight. We’ll head out when everyone is rested, please take as much time as you need, you must be fully healed. If Jaheira won’t heal you, I have some potions.” She turned away from him, but could feel his eyes still on her.

“Aye, my hound, ‘tis good to have a new companion on this dark road we travel, particularly one as fearsome as you,” Haer’Dalis said. His face was his usual mask of light joviality, but Nessa could see a warning in his eyes. “This humble bard nearly bursts with the anticipation of the chaos that I hear follows in your footsteps.” He paused. Sarevok’s eyes narrowed.

“A quick verse, if I may, your bewitching sister oft indulges this sparrow’s craft.” Haer’Dalis eyes moved again to roam across the dark, foreboding cavern.

“Bile black betrayals  
Linger like rot on the tongue,  
Made mute by masked words.”

Haer’Dalis eyes stopped to meet Sarevok’s. The warrior snorted contemptuously.

Nessa grabbed Haer’Dalis’ arm. “Come on,” she said, “I’m not sure if he’s the poetry type.”

Haer’Dalis grinned, his eyes still holding Sarevok’s cold stare.

“As you wish, my dove.”

\----------------------------------

 

The water looked inviting. Nessa quickly stripped off her thin undergarments and slipped into the bath. She leaned back and draped her arms across the back of the tub.

Haer’Dalis had stripped off his shirt and was unbuckling his belt as he turned to face Nessa. A smile spread across his olive-skinned face.

“My love, ‘tis good to see you like this,” he said. His eyes ran down from her face to her bare chest. Even though they had been intimate numerous times, she still felt awkward when he looked at her like that. She had so many scars, and far more muscle than was normal for an elven girl.

“Why do your cheeks redden? I hope it is with desire, and not shame,” he said. He deftly slid off his breeches and stepped forward. “May I join you, my dove?”

She was momentarily distracted by his tightly muscled chest and torso. The cat-like grace of his movement as he moved towards her.

His earrings jingled as he tilted his head and looked at her inquisitively. “Something wrong?”

“No, no…” she said, shaking her head to try to snap out of her daydreaming. “You know you don’t need to ask, come on in. I’m sorry, I’m just…”

“Exhausted?” Haer’Dalis interjected as he slid into the tub. He moved to the space across from her, and sighed appreciatively as he submerged his body in the hot water.

“Dirty,” she said. She dunked her hair under the water, then grabbed the bar of soap next to her and began scrubbing at the dirt and blood in her hair. Haer’Dalis watched her with a bemused look that changed to curiosity as she slid forward between his legs, her hair full of foamy bubbles.

“Can I?” she asked, motioning the bar towards his hair.

“If you wish, my dove,” he said, and bent his head towards her. She quickly jumped up on him and pushed him down under the water. His nimble hands grabbed her wrists and pulled her down on top of him. They both emerged from the water spluttering and giggling. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her onto his lap.

“It has been far too long since I have seen you laugh, my dear Nessa,” he said. He gently tucked a lock of hair behind her pointed ear, then traced across her jaw with his rough, calloused fingers. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, it felt even warmer than the water. A chill went down her spine at the feel of his touch, it was easy to believe that he could be descended from a succubus or an incubus. She felt completely at his mercy.

“What powers you have over me,” he chuckled as he brushed his finger over her lower lip. “How wondrous it is to travel in the company of a woman such as you, my dove. Born of death, but with the innocent heart of a child.”

She felt something catch in her throat. He slid a hand up her side but she grabbed it and pulled it off of her. She could see confusion flash in Haer’Dalis’ dark eyes.

“Tell me, something, Haer’Dalis. I want you to be honest with me.”

He sighed lightly. “Yes, my love?”

“Would you love me if I wasn’t a Bhaalspawn?”

He hesitated for a few moments and Nessa's blood ran cold.

“Nessa, my dear Nessa, what kind of question do you pose to this poor bard? Am I to reimagine the past, to tell you what could have been, what might have been?”

“How about what will be?”

The confusion in his expression was replaced with sadness. She knew this was something he had thought about, but didn't want to talk about. She felt bad for starting an argument with him, but she just couldn’t settle herself after the events of the day. There were too many doubts growing in her mind, too many questions left unanswered.

“This sparrow lives for today, you know this...I...you...what you ask of me, I cannot give you. I know not your future, but it seems grim indeed. I…” he hesitated. “Even I do not wish for the entropy that will tear you from my arms.”

She sighed and slumped forward against him.

“Oblivion awaits, my love, let us enjoy the present before it becomes our past.” He grabbed her roughly and pulled her hips into his. His lips came crashing onto hers in a kiss full of yearning, and her hands slid to his sides. She could feel his muscles tightening as he strained to pull her closer to him. They made love quickly, almost desperately.

They lay on their bedroll together, her head resting on his chest. She listened to the sound of his heartbeat, and felt his chest rise and fall with his breathing. He was twirling a lock of her hair, but his mind was elsewhere.

He rarely allowed himself to consider the future, but ever since Nessa had her soul taken from her, he noticed his mind drifting more often to questions of what awaited them in this next chapter. This...final chapter? A foreign feeling wrapped around his heart, slowly winding tighter and tighter. He didn’t want to lose her, he would accept whatever unfolded, but he didn’t want it.

She was a powerful woman, one of the most powerful primes he had ever met. She had grown into a fearsome mage and warrior, fueled by the divine blood that ran in her veins. Yet Nessa, the girlish elf who had rescued him from Mekrath’s clutches, she was struggling to survive. Normally he would encourage change, relish the instability of identity, but it was different with her. She didn’t want it, she had tried to hide her heritage from him but he could sense from the first moment they met that something was not as it seemed. He was easily charmed by Nessa, his affections for her grew quickly as he realized how similar they were. Her beauty was undeniable, but that was not unusual for elves. What was unusual was her fierce independence, and her unwillingness to be chained by her past, or her future. She did not seem as tied to conventions as most primes he had encountered.

But she was changing, and it was happening quickly. After her soul was taken from her, she was a shell of her former self. In those dark days, he could see what she would become if she followed the call of her sire. It reminded him of the most chaotic faction of the doomguard, the ones who destroyed everything they could. Patiently watching entropy as it unfolded was not enough for them. It reminded him of himself as a younger tiefling, before he met Raelis, before he channeled his passions onto the stage.

He was painfully aware that Nessa had tethered herself to him, that their love for one another strengthened her defenses against the dark powers churning within her. Maybe it was his own foreignness that allowed it, maybe being planetouched meant that he was otherworldly enough to remind her that the events of Faerun were small in comparison to the vast planes. Maybe it was the physical pleasure that reminded her of her own mortality. He wanted to make a promise of the future to her, to soothe her worries, but he could not bring himself to be dishonest with her. He felt a protectiveness towards her that he had not felt before, not for any lover, anyways. She needed him, and she haunted his every waking moment, even his dreams. He felt chained to her, but he couldn’t bear the thought of breaking his bonds. Maybe this was normal for primes, but for him it was most unusual.

He had pursued many women before, and he had been in loosely committed relationships, but there was always something lacking. He assumed it was the knowledge that everything ends that dampened his passions, that his waning interest and restlessness were inevitable. The sense of loneliness, of solitary existence, it was truth to him, it was the reality of existence. But when he was with Nessa, there was a sense of gravity. A pleasant sensation, but so strange to him.

 _You’re a coward, Haer’Dalis!_ Nessa had once told him. He grinned to himself as he remembered how furious she was. _It’s the coward’s way out of life, just say everything ends and then you never have to build anything! You never have to risk anything! You don’t have to be disappointed, betrayed, heartbroken, none of it! You know what you are going to be? Alone!”_ She had stormed out of his room and slammed the door, leaving him wishing he had kissed her more and talked less. He didn’t agree with her, but there was a ring of truth to what she said.

He stroked her hair, and paused to enjoy the feeling of her weight on him.

“Nessa, my dove…” he began, then paused as he rolled her gently onto her back. She peered up at him with light green eyes tinged with amber. Her ebony hair fell around her pale face, and a surge of desire raced through his body.

“I cannot tell you what the future holds for us, but I can make this much of a promise.” He felt her cool hand slide up the back of his neck and into his tousled blue-grey hair. Her touch was electric to him.

“I have no desire to leave your side before I see this Bhaalspawn tale through to the end, whatever end there may be. I cannot offer you more than that, and for that, I am sorry.”

She could see his eyes were heavy with emotion. She nodded, and pulled him down on top of her.

In between kisses she stopped him, and looked up at him with a sly grin. “You know, Bhaal did have consorts...” she said, and traced a finger over the marking on his cheek.

“‘Tis true, my goddess,” he replied with a wink. She giggled and kissed him again. They made love again, this time more slowly, more patiently. Haer’Dalis never tired of exploring her body, and each caress and kiss was a gentle reminder to her of just why she had no interest in any kind of godhood. She was Nessa of Candlekeep, a mortal, and she intended to keep it that way.

 

\------------------------------------------

Explosions rocked the very ground they were standing on. Saradush was under siege and the terror was palpable. Hungry children roamed the streets, and refugees were huddled together under the eaves of whatever buildings were left standing. This was Yaga-Shura’s doing, a fire giant Bhaalspawn who was besieging the city to slaughter everyone in it, Bhaalspawn or otherwise. When they had teleported into the city, they were greeted by an oddly friendly woman, Melissan. She had informed them of the situation with Gromnir, a mad half-orc Bhaalspawn who had been brought in by Melissan herself to “protect” the city. But now he was holed up in the garrison, refusing to come out, and his troops were harassing the people of Saradush.

“This woman’s help comes too easily, sister,” Sarevok rumbled. Nessa was surprised, he had barely spoken since he had joined their group.

“I agree, my hound, her breathless rush of words, the righteous concern for the people of this doomed city… they ring false to these ears as well.”

Sarevok glanced sideways at the tiefling that was standing beside him. Nessa couldn’t tell if his look was surprise or contempt.

“I don’t trust her, or anyone that’s involved in this whole mess. We need to find a way into the castle, for sure, but I’d rather get more information before we go storming in there.” Nessa scanned the sky for more incoming projectiles.

“Imoen and Haer’Dalis, how about you go to the tavern and try to get some information out of the locals?” Imoen was still obviously angry with her, but she had not had any more outbursts. Nessa knew Imoen and Haer’Dalis got along well, and his constant flirtations always made her sister laugh. Plus, they were the friendliest of all of them, and definitely the most likely to befriend the bartender.

“Keldorn, can you go to the local temple? Maybe they know something more about Gromnir, or how to meet with him.” Keldorn nodded.

“Jaheira and Valygar, can you try to speak with some men from the local garrison? We need to know if they are all Gromnir’s forces, and if they are, if they are all still loyal to him.”

“Of course, oh omnipresent authority figure,” Jaheira sneered. Valygar scowled at the druid.

“Sarevok, we will return to the pocket plane. I...have something for you.” Sarevok’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Haer’Dalis’ face was a mask of calm, but she could sense hesitation. He flashed a quick smile, and offered his arm to Imoen. “Come, my lark, let us gather what information we may before we fall deep in our cups, the din of war and destruction sparks a desire for drink and dance. Let us live while we may--” Imoen shook her head at him and pushed his arm away.

“You are so morbid sometimes, Haer’Dalis.”

“So sayeth the Bhaalspawn, what irony!”

“Touche,” Imoen replied, and a small grin crept across her lips.

He chuckled lightly and the two strode away towards the tavern. Soon, only Sarevok and Nessa were left standing together in the dark alleyway.

“Are you certain that your...bard is comfortable with you being alone with me?” Sarevok asked, one eyebrow arching up towards his tattooed forehead.

“I don’t know what that is supposed to mean, I am an adult,” Nessa replied. “Besides, you would be a fool to try anything in my realm.”

“Of course, dear sister.”

“Ok, you can stop calling me sister, seriously it’s starting to make me uncomfortable. I know you don’t like this situation anymore than I do, but whatever blood--divine---well, whatever kind of heritage we shared, it’s gone now.” Sarevok’s eyes flashed with the first flicker of anger she had seen since his resurrection.

“I’m an elf, you’re a human, we obviously aren’t related. We didn’t grow up together, we are nothing like each other, the more I think of us as family the more unsettled I feel about this whole situation. Just...leave it alone.” Nessa felt her cheeks start to redden. She wasn’t afraid of Sarevok, but her usual open demeanor felt dangerous with him. She had never been this close to someone so calculating, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to use her words and emotions against her.

Sarevok could see her discomfort, and a satisfied smirk crossed his face.

“We are more alike than you would admit to yourself, Nessa.”

She shuddered involuntarily when he said her name. She could remember him standing over her, his golden eyes glowing fiercely, then...dust.

“I’d imagine doubly so since you have a piece of my soul, Sarevok.” Her words cut him, and she could see anger flaring. “Enough of this, I didn’t bring you back to life just to argue. Come on, I’ve got something to show you.” She focused on the pocket plane, and the two were whisked away.

\-------------------

 

Sarevok’s face was unreadable, but Nessa could see a hint of regret in his amber eyes.

“You...how did you find this?” he asked.

“I had it on me when I was captured by this mage guy, he gave it to a djinni slave that I eventually freed,” Nessa replied.

“Why would you keep this? It is a deathbringer’s weapon, it is my weapon...I did not think you one to keep trophies.”

Nessa knew it was going to be awkward to explain why she had kept the sword, which was why she had waited to do it alone with him.

“I just had this feeling...an intuition or something. Imoen and Jaheira tried to talk me into getting rid of it, but I didn’t feel right about selling it. What if it fell in the wrong hands?” Sarevok’s bitter laugh interrupted her.

“I see you are still as concerned for the weak as ever, how disappointing. I had hoped more time with our father’s blood running through your veins would have ignited some semblance of ambition--”

“No.” Nessa snapped. “The only ambition I have is to get rid of my heritage, even--” She stopped herself. Sarevok looked at her, his expression now full of contempt.

“You will accept the gifts offered to you,” he growled, “anything else is foolishness.”

You will accept the gifts offered to you...rage ignited in the very fiber of Nessa’s being. The last person who said that to her was dead. She had burned through his last spell defense, and brought her katana crashing down on the cleft of his neck and shoulder. The look on his face, the surprise, the fear…

“You sound like Irenicus,” she hissed.

“Ah, was that his name? I assume you mean the mage that was dragged down here with you.”

“That’s what he said while he tortured me. Then healing, then more torture,” Nessa could feel anger flowing through her like lava.

“Don’t bore me with stories of your past, girl.”

“Oh I will, and you will listen...he tortured me to provoke the essence of Bhaal, to strengthen me, so that he could rip my soul out of me and use it for his own ascension.” Nessa’s eyes narrowed, she locked them with Sarevok’s.

“I have given you a fraction of my soul, willingly, but I am not as naive as you would like to think. I will not hesitate to kill you. There is no power for you in my company, there is no future for you in this prophecy. Your part ended when you died.” The words spilled out of her more quickly, and more cruelly. “When Imoen killed you.”

She could see him clenching his fists, she could tell that he would kill her if he could.

“I will not repeat your mistakes, I will not be deceived by the false promises of my birthright. I am no goddess, Sarevok, and I would rather be dead than be a reanimated corpse still clinging to what could have been.” The last part came out more harshly than she would have liked.

“You stupid wench, how dare you speak to me like this,” Sarevok snarled. He lunged forward and grabbed for the Sword of Chaos. Nessa’s spell sequencer went off, and her skin turned to stone as wards of protection materialized around her.

Sarevok gripped the sword, relishing the feel of its weight in his palm. As Sarevok’s skin touched the hilt, his eyes flared with a blaze of gold, and the black blade began to glow red. He let out a deep, menacing laugh. “See how it knows its rightful owner? You were a fool to return this to me, a trusting fool, but a fool nonetheless.”

The hair on the back of Nessa’s neck stood straight up, electrified by the taint surging through her body. In this realm, she was more powerful than ever. She tried to calm herself as rage flooded into her mind, assaulting her reason.

He was not worthy...she heard the familiar voice whisper in her ear. Slay him, rip out his heart, his life is yours.

She could feel the Slayer tearing out of her, desperately clawing its way out of her very core. Her body must have started manifesting some of the changes, because Sarevok’s face was a mixture of awe and fear. Maybe it wasn’t fear. Maybe it was...desire.

“Yes,” he growled. “YES. Stoke that infernal wrath!” His voice boomed.

“No...NO!” Nessa cried. “I hate you Sarevok, I hate this place, I hate this…” She looked down at her arm and could see that her hand had begun to transform into gnarly blood-red claws. She let out a guttural shriek and fell on her knees.

Her voice began to change, she couldn’t tell if the shrieking and screaming was her own or the voices in her head. “Get...out….NOW!” she managed to hiss between tremors that shook her entire body.

There was no getting out, not for him. Only she could control entry and exit from the pocket plane. He had let his anger overtake him, and he regretted it. There was no more divine spark inside of him, there was no more taint that roiled up within him and flooded him with power. Her anger aroused whatever shreds of ambition he had left within him. Her pale face, crowned with black hair...the amber flecks in her eyes burning...he could see the beginnings of a dark goddess. He could see her ascending to her father’s throne.

He had already considered all of this, many times over, while he laid awake in his new bed. No one could serve the new Lady of Murder better than he could, and being undead would make him all the more fitting for leading a campaign of death in her name. Even if she could not ascend, they could resurrect Bhaal and serve as his most faithful deathstalkers.

At first, after she had murdered him a second time, he thought he would like simple revenge. A flick of a dagger, and it would all be over. He would slip out, unnoticed, and go find his fortune elsewhere. But he did not anticipate that his resurrection would require not only a spark of her divine essence as a catalyst, but also a fraction of her soul. If she died...he was fairly certain he would die as well. That was wholly unexpected, and he was forced to change his plans accordingly.

“No,” Sarevok answered. “You control the Slayer, it does not control you.” His eyes locked with hers, even as she was racked with waves of pain.

“You must learn this, Nessa,” he said, “you must accept your powers, you must master them, or they will master you.” He stooped down beside her, but still he loomed over her petite frame. She vainly tried to cast another protection spell, but the Slayer’s onslaught interrupted her. “Don’t...touch...me…” she warned, the claws on her arm jerking involuntarily.

Sarevok reached a large, calloused hand out and grabbed the claws. She couldn’t feel his touch, but she could feel his eyes boring into her very soul. He was so calm, so confident...there was no fear. No disgust. Even Haer’Dalis was disturbed by her shifting into the Slayer, he didn’t talk to her about it but she could see he avoided eye contact with her while they searched for the portal to the Underdark. The drow illusion couldn’t hide the shadows of fear in his eyes. Not fear for himself...fear for her.

But Sarevok, he wanted the Slayer. Of course, he didn’t want it killing him at this very moment, but Bhaal’s grisly avatar was fascinating to him. He could almost feel his old power as he knelt there, one hand on the Sword of Chaos, the other gripping the arm of the most powerful Bhaalspawn. He knew it, he could sense it. She was the one the prophecy spoke of, she had to be.

Nessa convulsed and began to retch. Sarevok still held her, but there was no pity in his heart. Her claws began to change back into her hands, and after a few more rounds of vomiting, she finally laid there, still. She took a deep breath, and released it slowly. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and she ripped her hand away from Sarevok.

“Just what the fuck do you think you are doing?” she demanded. In a flash, there was a wall of spell protections between them.

“Helping you, fool,” he snapped.

“Trying to get yourself killed is more like it!” she shouted. “Don’t you understand, I can’t control it! I just...attack everything around me.” She hesitated, unwanted memories flashing before her eyes. “Everyone.” Whenever she had changed the first time, against her will, it was like she was suddenly watching a movie. Her vision was red, hazy...but she watched as she swung her claws around wildly. She nearly ripped Bodhi in half. Then she turned on Keldorn, who was frantically trying to cast protections from evil on the group. The sound of Imoen and Jaheira casting spells against her provoked the Slayer’s rage even more. She tried to blink away the worst of the memories, she...no, she couldn’t even think about it.

“You will learn to control it, in time,” Sarevok replied. He was confident, too confident.

“What kind of game are you playing here? It hasn’t even been a day, and already you are up to your old tricks?” She caught her balance as she slowly moved to stand up.

Her light green eyes locked on his, but there was no anger left in them, only disappointment. “I believe in second chances, Sarevok, I have to believe in them, but you…” She paused, and shook her head. “Maybe Imoen was right about you.”

Sarevok stood unmoved. His face was a mask of indifference.

“Don’t you understand? Don’t you get it? I wanted to stop your stupid war, I wanted to help the people you were hurting, but I never want to kill you!” she nearly shouted. “I never cared if you became some new Lord of Murder, I didn’t care if it was Bhaal, or Bane, or Cyric, or you...it doesn’t matter to me!”

Confusion flashed across Sarevok’s face.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. “I didn’t think the same way as Imoen about Irenicus’...experiments. She didn’t know she was a Bhaalspawn, she was terrified of what she was experiencing, but I was already getting used to it….”

“Don’t you see??” she spat. “I hoped Irenicus could take the essence away from me. I would have given it to him for free!”

Sarevok’s laughed, his voice full of contempt.

“I was stupid, ok?! I thought that maybe he could take it away and I could somehow manage to stay alive...I didn’t know that he would take my whole fucking soul with him! Just like I would have gladly given the essence to you, or to whoever! Bhaal was already an evil god of murder, what’s one more evil dude up in the sky?!”

“I just…” she stammered. “I…Damn it, you gave me no choice, Sarevok! You were trying to kill my friends! You killed the only father I had ever known! Your “associates” were killing the monks at Candlekeep! I would have been executed for killing Rieltar!”

“That was the plan,” Sarevok growled. “What are you trying to clarify with this exposition I did not ask for, nor care to hear?”

Tears began to well up in Nessa’s eyes. She always had a harder time controlling her emotions after experiencing the Slayer. Right now, she didn’t care if Sarevok thought she was weak.

“You have everything I ever wanted,” she whispered. “You are free of the taint, you are alive…but you are going to throw it all away, aren’t you? You aren’t even going to try to give a normal life a chance?” Her face looked haunting in the dim light of the abyss.

Sarevok did not answer.

“You know what’s the real kicker?” She laughed bitterly. “You probably feel the same way about me.”

Sarevok’s face darkened. He didn’t have to say anything, she knew she had everything he had ever wanted.

“You thought the whole “prophecy” crap was about you? Let me guess, now you think it’s about me?” Nessa felt anger rising in her again. “Do you think a god who was so determined not to die that he screwed every hole he could get in would just let you take his power? That he’s the type of guy to share?! He didn’t breed us for power! He wants...he needs us to die!” Nessa shook her head and let out a short, bitter laugh. “After we kill each other, of course.”

Her words hit him like a ton of bricks. He had never considered the possibility that the children weren’t supposed to be heirs to the throne. That one of the children wouldn't rise above all of the others and take their place. That the greatest of them wouldn’t serve at his right hand.

“I read a lot too, you know, while I was holed up in Candlekeep for 20 years,” Nessa continued. “Do you know what I got out of it? The gods are petty, fickle, self-absorbed twits who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about any of us. They need us, they feed off of us, and they just throw everyone a few crumbs to keep the ‘rabble’ worshipping.”

Nessa took Sarevok’s silence as permission to keep going.

“I don’t want power, I don’t want the responsibility, I don’t want any of it. The gods die too, you know.”

Sarevok snorted. “I see your lover has been quite the influence on you.”

“Don’t you talk about him,” Nessa hissed. “You know nothing about him, or about me.”

“Hmph,” Sarevok grunted. He loosened his grip on his sword. “Tell me, then,” he started, his dark brows knitted tightly. “I offered you knowledge, and you accepted. You said that you needed my knowledge...why? If you have no desire to see the prophecy fulfilled, then why accept my help?”

“I don’t want to fulfill the prophecy, Sarevok.” Nessa whispered. “I want to end it.” Her green eyes flashed dangerously. “...and you are going to help me do it.”

“You required no oath, fool, I can do as I wish,” Sarevok challenged.

Nessa sighed. It was true, she hadn’t required an oath of him. Placing Yoshimo’s dead, rotting heart on Ilmater’s altar was enough for her. She would never bind someone like that, ever.

“It’s true, you’re a free man, Sarevok. I can’t make someone swear an oath like that.”

“Your morals are misplaced, girl.” Sarevok spat. “I thought you would have learned that by now.”

“Well my “morals” kept you from being sent right back to the Abyss by Jaheira and Imoen, now didn’t they?”

His face looked, for a moment, like she had slapped him. His mouth was set in a thin line of disapproval. She knew she was being petty, but gods, he was so insufferable.

“I tire of this bickering, child.” Sarevok growled. “I will...consider what you have said.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a cruel smirk. “Shouldn’t we return Saradush? I wouldn’t want to worry the others.”

“Yes,” Nessa agreed. “We can...we can discuss this again, later.”

Sarevok nodded silently. His light brown eyes followed her at she moved to gather the few items scattered about and put them back into her bag of holding. She had grown since he had last seen her, something about her was different. She was harder, certainly more powerful, but guarded. Still far more trusting than he, but he could tell that her openness was more of a facade than before. Behind those light green eyes was a shrewd mind, one that he had underestimated before. He would not make the same mistake again.

He found himself distracted by her hands moving to straighten her robes and tighten her scabbards to her sides. She was slender, but obviously strong. Her robes were woven with powerful enchantments, and he could tell that her equipment was hard-earned. Her black hair had small braids that hung down along her pale face. Her eyes were almond shaped and turned slightly upwards, with darker shadows under them than he remembered. He still recalled the first time he met her, in Candlekeep. She wouldn’t, she didn’t know who he was, and he was there under a false name. He was young, he had long black hair himself at that time, and no tattoos. He had thought she looked so exotic, sitting there poring over her incantations, he had heard of moon elves but hadn’t seen one in person. He didn’t know she was a Bhaalspawn, not yet.

“Ready?”

Sarevok snapped back out of his thoughts and sheathed his sword quickly. Nessa gave him a quizzical look. He ignored it and nodded curtly.

In the blink of an eye, they were back in Saradush.

Poem by Saul Makabim. hellopoetry.com


	2. Memories

_This is rather lengthy, and I hope it doesn't drag on too much. I've also used the storyline about the Harpers having attacked a temple of Bhaal and killed everyone but Nessa and Sarevok. I never bought the "rescue" thing, mainly because I'm not a big fan of the Harpers. Some characters are developing in ways I hadn't anticipated, especially Jaheira. Thanks for reading :)_

\---------------------------

It was early in the evening, and the party had reconvened at the Tankard Tree, the only tavern in Saradush left standing. Keldorn had learned of an entrance to Gromnir’s castle via the old prisons, but the local priestess had warned of an ‘unholy presence’. She was oblique, but mentioned that he might need wooden stakes. 

_Vampires_. Nessa and Imoen shuddered. Even Sarevok didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect of vampire hunting, although he was barely even acknowledging the rest of the group after the events in the pocket plane. He had retired to his room early, while the others had met for dinner. Nessa was a little concerned, she hadn’t seen him eat a bite of food since he was been brought back. He wasn’t any use to anyone if he starved to death. 

Haer’Dalis was in a mood for drinking, not eating, and was seated by himself at the bar.

He swirled his whiskey thoughtfully in his glass as he let his mind drift with the rumbles and booms of Yaga-Shura’s ongoing assault. The din of war was a symphony of destruction to him, he felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought of the fire giant tearing the city down, stone by stone. Tearing apart everything that had been built up, only for Yaga-Shura himself to eventually fall. It was comforting to him, the inevitability of it all. 

“Mmm, don’t you look...delicious,” a sultry voice crooned. 

A woman stood near him, he had not heard her approach. She was tall and curvaceous, with pale skin and bright auburn hair. Her eyes were heavily lined with kohl, but something about their inky depth seemed strange. Her painted lips curled in an almost predatory smile. She swayed slowly back and forth as she moved toward the seat beside him. Her ample bosom was accentuated by the tight bustier she wore, and the high slit in her skirt revealed milky legs. 

“May I join you?” she asked, cocking her head coquettishly. 

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Nessa was seated at the large dining table, but had her back to him. Keldorn had noticed the woman’s presence and was eyeing her suspiciously.

Haer’Dalis was in the mood for mischief. 

“But of course,” he replied, “‘tis not often that a man encounters a woman of such beauty.” 

The woman’s smile was now decidedly predatory. She lowered herself into the seat beside him and leaned forwards, putting her assets on full display. 

“You could encounter far more than beauty tonight, if you wish,” she replied, her eyes slowly scanning over his torso and face. “I have much to share with a man like you,” she said, and paused to peer curiously at the markings on his face. She breathed in sharply. “Hmm…” she said, her slender hands reaching forward to touch his face. “A tiefling? How...unusual.” Her moist tongue slid over her full lips as she licked them, and bit the lower one suggestively. But her fingers were cold, quite cold. Most primes felt cool to Haer’Dalis, but this woman’s hands were absolutely frigid. 

He could feel the crackle of magic in the air. The woman was trying to enchant him. Nessa must have sensed it as well, because he could hear a chair scraping hard across the wooden floor. Light footsteps rapidly approached them from behind.

“Ahem,” Nessa said, clearing her throat.

Haer’Dalis turned to greet her, and motioned to the drinks on the bar. “My love, care to join us? They have some choice offerings from…’Cormyr’, I believe it was.” 

Nessa frowned and turned towards the woman seated beside him. The courtesan’s face flashed with displeasure.

“You are interrupting us, begone,” the woman said flatly. She turned back towards Haer’Dalis and rolled her head and shoulders back languidly, showing off more of her rather spectacular cleavage. 

Nessa rolled her eyes and groaned. “Whatever, the only thing I was interrupting was a poor attempt at an enchantment.” 

The courtesan now looked angry. She leaned forward even closer to Haer’Dalis and motioned for him to turn his ear to her. She whispered for a few moments, her dark eyes still fixed on Nessa’s. A feral grin spread across her thick lips.

“Hmm,” Haer’Dalis murmured, one of his blue-gray eyebrows arching sharply. “Such a tempting offer, my vulture,” he said as he reached a hand into the belt of his elven chain mail. “What tragedy! I’m out of coin. I doubt you would take only my word for a promise of repayment?” His eyes sparkled playfully as he spread his hands in an expression of helplessness. The courtesan’s face fell.

“Do not be disappointed, my dear,” he said and flashed her a knowing smile. “There are many unsuspecting berks here, you should have no trouble finding your quarry tonight.” 

“Idiot,” she hissed. She rose from her chair and gave Nessa a poisonous glare, then sauntered back towards the tables where the other patrons were sitting. 

Nessa turned back towards Haer’Dalis, who had returned to sipping on his drink. 

“Hitting on prostitutes behind my back, hmm?” she drawled. 

“Such accusations!” Haer’Dalis brought his hand to his chest as if he had wounded her. “I sought no such company, but was merely approached by yon fireshirt...”

“Uh-huh,” Nessa replied, and shook her head. “What am I going to do with you.”

“She had some suggestions.” Haer’Dalis lips twitched, but he did not crack a smile. 

Nessa laughed as she climbed into the seat next to him and grabbed the mug of ale. 

“All this war and destruction really gets you going, huh,” she said in between swigs of beer. “What’s a “fireshirt” anyways?”

“A prostitute, for people of my kind,” Haer’Dalis replied. 

Nessa wrinkled her nose. 

“What offends thy tender sensibilities, flesh for sale or mortal and fiendish commingling?” 

“Well when you say it like that, both!” 

Haer’Dalis let out a loud, throaty laugh. “Sigil is not a fortress of book and monks, my dear Nessa, there is much there that offends, tantalizes, entrances...ah, yes, it is a marvelous place that defies simple description.” His eyes looked distant. 

Nessa fell silent. She had felt a few pangs of jealousy. The firing of the enchantment tweaked her senses and she had been surprised to turn and see Haer’Dalis sitting with one of the most beautiful human women Nessa had ever seen. She knew he was flirtatious, and she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but it still bothered her. They hadn’t discussed any sort of monogamous relationship, but this was the first woman she had seen him flirting with since they had become intimate. 

She felt vaguely nauseous and generally out of it, she hadn’t told anyone about what had happened in the pocket plane but she definitely felt the after effects of the Slayer change. She needed rest before they fought anything, especially vampires.

A warm hand brushed her hair out of her face, and cupped her chin. “I must ask you something, Nessa, something that I hesitate to mention, but my heart demands it.” She looked up at Haer’Dalis, and put her hand over his as it rested under her chin. 

He paused, and it seemed for a minute that he wouldn’t be able to put into words what had been plaguing him. He thought that all of the chaos in Saradush would help him shake off his worries, or that even a few harmless flirtations would lighten his mood. But honestly, he felt a hint of guilt. This wasn’t Sigil, Nessa wasn’t like other women. If she knew, as he immediately did, that the courtesan was a vampire, his lover would be especially cross with him. 

“You must tell me, my dove, if I hold your heart, the same as you reign over mine?” Haer’Dalis’ expression was earnest, and he took Nessa by surprise. 

“Of course, Haer’Dalis, I thought,” she gripped his hand more tightly. “I thought that you knew that.”

Haer’Dalis sighed. “My love, you are a beautiful woman, countless men and women would throw themselves at your feet.” He paused and leaned in towards her. “But even your beauty pales in comparison to your strength. I seek not to possess you, or clip your eagle wings, but…” 

Nessa smirked. “But?”

“I...you render me speechless, my love.”

“That’s a first!” a girlish voice interrupted. Haer’Dalis and Nessa turned to see Imoen standing behind them. 

“Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds, but the rest of us have been waiting for Nessa to finish telling us what exactly we are planning on doing tomorrow.” The young mage looked irritated, and Nessa could see Jaheira glaring at them as well.

“Crap, sorry sis’,” Nessa said, and gulped down the rest of her ale before she jumped back down out of her seat. Haer’Dalis waved her on. “We can finish our talk later, my dove.” 

Nessa went back to her seat at the large dining table. Keldorn looked up at her, then looked back at Haer’Dalis. “Your bard flirted with a danger greater than he realized.”

“Hmm?” Nessa looked at Keldorn, then Haer’Dalis. The tiefling’s face was unreadable.

“That was no simple courtesan, that was some form of undead creature, most likely a vampire.”

Haer’Dalis dark eyes opened wide in feigned surprise. Before Nessa could respond, a loud shriek rang through the inn. 

Valygar jumped out of his seat. “Upstairs,” he said, and quickly unsheathed his sword. The others rushed after him up the stairs to the second floor. They were greeted with the sight of the courtesan standing in the hallway. Well, she wasn’t _standing_ , exactly. A broken table leg protruded from her chest and into the wall behind her, and she dangled helplessly from it. 

Sarevok emerged from his room with his sword in hand. He was shirtless, and had only a thin pair of trousers on. His chest was covered in a number of marks that looked like scratches. 

“Foolish creature,” he snarled as he stormed towards the vampire. The others watched as he swiftly lifted his sword, swung it in a wide circle, and brought it crashing down on the neck of the courtesan. Her head was severed clean and her limbs jerked as her body slowly turned to a pile of ashes. 

Sarevok turned to face his companions. Imoen looked at him, then at the pile of ashes, then back at the scratches on his chest. 

“Eww, did you…with a vampire?!” Sarevok said nothing, but his face darkened with a heavy scowl.

“That’s so icky. Even for you.”

“As well as dangerous,” Keldorn added. “It would appear, however, that your brother can handle himself.”

Sarevok eyed Keldorn suspiciously. The paladin’s presence was far less noxious than he had anticipated. 

“The whore flew into a rage when I spurned her advances. She tried to bite me.” Sarevok rubbed his neck, there were some bruises and scratches but fortunately no puncture wounds. 

Jaheira snorted. “Surely the vampire found an abomination like you irresistible.” 

“Save your bile, woman,” Sarevok snapped. “Nessa may tolerate your endless provocation but I have no patience for it.” 

“Woman? How dare you--” Jaheira’s eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“Hey, HEY!” Nessa interjected, and jumped forward to put herself between her brother and the druid.

Sarevok stared at Jaheira, his light brown eyes unblinking. The half-elf’s face was contorted with anger, her teeth were bared in a sneer. 

“Ah, what a waste,” a quiet voice said from behind everyone. They turned to see Haer’Dalis, who was looking wistfully at the pile of ashes on the floor. 

“Please, my hound, tell me you enjoyed the pleasures of her dark kind before you sent her to her eternal rest?” 

“Haer’Dalis!” Nessa objected.

“I’m sure it has been years since your brother has enjoyed the touch of a woman, or man, I was merely--” 

“Nyah nyah not listening,” Imoen said and clamped her hands over her ears. 

Keldorn and Valygar merely shook their heads. 

The group stood for a few moments in an awkward silence. Haer’Dalis’ face looked tragic, but there was a glitter of playfulness in his eyes.

“I think everyone needs to get some rest,” Nessa said. “We’ll be heading down to the prisons first thing tomorrow morning.” She looked at the space where the vampire had been. 

“Don’t forget your stakes.”

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

The vampires proved to be a rather easy task. They weren’t organized like Bodhi’s enclave, and a number of them seemed to be juveniles or half-human, half-vampires. The group made their way through a secret entrance into the lower levels of Gromnir’s stronghold, and Imoen used her spells and stealth to sneak through and unbolt the doors for the her companions. The guards were quickly dispatched, some nasty traps were disarmed, and the group found themselves at the foot of the staircase to the upper levels.

They made their way up as quietly as they could, and were soon met by a powerful group of mercenary fighters and mages. The battle was over quickly, and Nessa noted somewhat reluctantly that Sarevok really was an amazing warrior. The whole deathbringer thing was creepy to her, but she couldn’t deny that it was breathtaking to watch him bring his huge sword crashing down on one of their opponents. 

_Feel death’s icy grip_...she remembered being at the edge of his sword. She was glad he was fighting with her, and not against her. For now, anyways.

He stood off a ways from the rest of the group, his face was emotionless but his eyes still glowed with a faint golden shimmer. They seemed to regain their old glow whenever he fought, some power must still have been left in his sword. He was cleaning some blood and hair off of it, and didn’t seem to notice her looking at him. The others were busying looting the bodies that were scattered around the room. 

She wondered where Sarevok’s mother had come from, he looked different than most of the other humans she had encountered in Baldur’s Gate and Amn. His skin was a deep tan color, and the shadow of stubble on his chin and lip was black. The tattoos on his forehead were strange, they reminded her of Thayvian wizards. Maybe they were related to Bhaal somehow? Maybe just generically evil? She didn’t know. His face was littered with scars, with a few especially large ones over his mouth and eye. Suddenly, Sarevok looked up from his sword cleaning and caught Nessa’s eye before she could turn away. He met her stare but said nothing.

He was very tall, easily a foot taller than her. His neck and shoulder muscles bulged out from his plate, and his hands were probably as big as her waist. Nessa gave Sarevok a half smile and then turned towards the rest of the group. 

“I’m going to try to resolve this peacefully, but I doubt we are getting out of here without another fight,” Nessa said.

The others nodded in agreement.

They swiftly ran up the final set of stairs, where they were greeted by Gromnir and his men. Nessa tried to talk some sense into him, but he was resolute in his paranoia that she was there to kill him. He was also convinced that Melissan had brought him to Saradush so that should could turn the Five against one another. She and Sarevok had exchanged a quick glance, she wondered if he thought that was a possibility. Gromnir was crazy after all. 

The fight was difficult. Gromnir was a gigantic half-orc and packed a heavy punch. Imoen and Valygar were picking off the mercenaries on the fringe of the room with their bows, and Jaheira was busy casting healing spells. Sarevok had charged in and was trading blows with Gromnir, but Nessa could see that he couldn’t take on the half-orc by himself.

There were two battlemages who had quickly thrown up their spell protections. Haer’dalis was focused on the one, and Nessa on the other. Keldorn easily dispelled the mages spell protections and illusions. 

This was Nessa’s favorite way to fight, when she and Haer’Dalis were both in melee. They fought similarly, they used two smaller blades and moved dexterously. He moved with the grace of a dancer as he spun and slashed through the enemies. Nessa loved to watch him, he was obviously well-trained and it was a much more graceful way of fighting than what she had learned. Sometimes she would get impatient and start hacking and slashing, she was quite strong for her size and could easily strike a single fatal blow on a mage once their protections were down. 

Sarevok was being hammered by Gromnir’s morning stars, and she could see him straining to dodge the flurry of attacks while he tried to bring his own sword in for a blow. 

She swung her katana at the battlemage before her, but just as she brought her sword slicing upwards an arrow whizzed over her shoulder and right into the mage’s left eye socket. Nessa slashed a gaping wound in the mage’s chest, and then turned back towards Gromnir. 

The half-orc had just smashed a morning star into Sarevok’s helmet, and Nessa could see him stumble momentarily. Keldorn had been fighting one of the mercenaries, but he turned back towards Sarevok and cast a quick healing spell. 

Gromnir’s men were all dead, only he was left. He fought desperately, but was overwhelmed by their greater number. Within moments he was gone.

 

\---------------------------

 

“That woman, my raven, her words are as rehearsed as her expressions,” Haer’Dalis said as he sat beside her at the dinner table in the pocket plane. 

Nessa could feel it too. Something was not right about Melissan, not right at all. She could remember Haer’Dalis trying to warn her about Yoshimo, far before the events in Spellhold. She hadn’t listened then, and she wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

“It seems a bit fishy that she just so happens to know exactly where the other Bhaalspawn are, how to find them, and also, ya know, how to _kill_ them,” Imoen said. Her eyes were dark, and the shadows beneath them even darker. 

The group sat around the table, Valygar leaned back in his seat as he puffed thoughtfully at a small pipe of tobacco. He had been uncharacteristically happy when Nessa had snuck it to him after they left Saradush, she had bought it at the tavern the night before. 

“It is better to have her information than to stumble about,” Jaheira interjected. The druid sat at the table with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She had barely eaten her food, and cast furtive glances at Sarevok, who was seated immediately to her right. 

“I do wonder where this path that she had laid will end,” Keldorn added. “I fear for the people of Saradush.” 

Nessa nodded in agreement. She glanced down the table at Sarevok, who was pushing his food around his plate with his fork.

“What do you think, Sarevok?” she asked. He gave her a curious look.

“She is too involved,” he said, his amber eyes unblinking as they held her gaze. “I suspect her motives, and you would be a fool to trust her.” 

“Ha, that’s pretty rich coming from you,” Imoen laughed bitterly. 

Sarevok turned towards her, his face dark. 

“Do you intend to provoke my anger, little sister?” he growled. 

“I’m not your sister, Sarevok, and I don’t give a shit about your big-bad temper either,” Imoen snapped back. “Besides, I’m the one who’s still a Bhaalspawn, so maybe you should back off before _I_ get angry.” Her blue eyes sparked with a flicker of rage. 

“Immie…” Nessa started, but Imoen held up a hand to her.

“Let _big brother_ take care of himself,” she hissed.

“Enough!” Sarevok bellowed. He shoved his chair back from the table and stood up. His fists were clenched tightly, and his eyes had a faint glow in the inner ring of his irises. He spun quickly on his heels, and stormed away. 

“Seriously?!” Nessa cried, and smacked her forehead with her open palm in exasperation. She looked at Imoen, who was sitting silently. 

“You are being such a child!” Nessa cried. “How long are the two of you going to keep this up?” She glanced at Jaheira, who was looking away from the table. 

“Ugggghh!” Nessa groaned, and hopped up to go chase after Sarevok. 

He had gone to his own private area, off in the outer circle of the pocket plane. Nessa slowed down as she approached him, she felt hesitant. He was standing with his back to her, his fists still clenched tightly. He had a thin tunic and trousers on, but Nessa could see the muscles of his arms straining. 

“Sarevok?” she said. Her voice was soft, and in the vast cavern it sounded like a whisper.

“I did not ask for company,” Sarevok stated flatly. 

“Listen--I--I know this must be hard for you,” she started, but was interrupted by Sarevok suddenly turning to face her. His face was contorted with anger.

“Save your platitudes,” he growled. 

“I’m just trying to--” 

“I know what you are trying to do, and I want nothing of it.” His face looked murderous. 

Nessa snorted. “That’s not possible, because I don’t even know what I’m doing.” 

Sarevok said nothing in reply. They stood there for a few moments, staring at each other. Nessa shifted uncomfortably, she really wasn’t quite sure why she had followed him, or even what she was trying to say to him.

“Can you sit with me, for a minute?” Nessa said, and pulled a small flask out of her belt. “I’ve got a bit of brandy, if you care to share.”

Sarevok still said nothing. 

“Ok, well...I’m going to have a seat,” Nessa said, and plopped down on his folded bedroll. She took a swig of the brandy, and offered the flask to him. He shook his head.

She took a deep breath. “Ok,” she said, and exhaled softly. “I can’t even imagine what’s going through your head, you’ve barely been alive for more than a few days, you’re stuck with probably the last group of people you’d choose to be with.” She could see surprise flash in Sarevok’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced with suspicion.

“Plus Imoen and Jaheira keep talking shit to you, and you can’t just kill them, so that’s gotta be weird,” Nessa said. She gave him a lopsided grin, but he ignored it. 

“I’m still pissed about what happened in the pocket plane, but I’m willing to look past it.” Nessa paused, and sucked in a quick breath. “I just-- I want you to know that you’re not alone.”

Sarevok laughed bitterly. He strode towards her and crouched down in front of her, until their eyes were level. He leaned forward, his face inches away from her. She could feel the heat radiating from him, and could smell his strong, musky scent. 

“I’m not a pet for you to add to your collection, girl,” he sneered. 

Nessa swallowed hard and slipped a hand to where she hid her dagger on the back belt of her robes. Sarevok noticed her movement and grinned malevolently.

“You offer brandy in one hand, and a dagger in the other?”

“I’d like to just offer you booze, but I’m still not convinced you aren’t just going to try to kill me the minute you have the chance,” Nessa replied. Her breathing had become faster, her heart was racing. Being this close to Sarevok, it made her blood pound in her ears. She didn’t know if she was just nervous, but it was a strong reaction. 

“Good. You aren’t as stupid as I thought,” Sarevok said. He paused, and gave her a probing look. “Do I make you nervous, _sister_?” 

_Wow, it’s that obvious?_ “No,” she lied.

He snorted, and leaned back on his heels and stood up. 

“Best run along to your friends, little one,” he said, his eyes still fixed on hers. “Your bard has more use for your presence than I.”

Nessa felt a cold pit grow in her stomach. She stood back up and held his gaze for a few seconds, as if in defiance. Then she left.

Sarevok watched her as she marched away from him. She was so weak, it disgusted him. She tolerated all manner of insolence from her inferiors and was far too trusting. Then there was the matter of the tiefling, that foppish bard who danced around and prattled incessantly. He could see the way Nessa was when she was around him, and it was nothing but a liability. 

Love was merely an obstacle, it was beneath anyone with aspirations of true power. Sarevok had enjoyed the company of many women, in Baldur’s Gate, but he had only allowed himself to become distracted by one of them. _Tamoko_. Then she turned against him, the bitch. 

Sarevok sat down on his bedroll. The spot were Nessa had been had a hint of her scent on it, a sweet, feminine scent. It had been a long time since Sarevok had been with a woman, far too long. He felt a surge of desire rush through him, but to his disappointment his body did not respond. 

He was alive, yet it was as if his bodily systems were still struggling to work properly. He felt hunger, but when he tried to eat the food had no taste and sat like a rock in his stomach. Fortunately his battle prowess was unchanged, and he assumed that everything else would return in time. In this, as in many other matters, he would just need to have _patience_. 

 

\--------------------------------------

Nessa took a detour on her way back to the others. She was angry and embarrassed, she felt so stupid for even trying to talk to Sarevok like that. Her steps slowly wove through the grotesque statues that were reaching up to the ceiling, some of them were twisted in pain, others deformed. Her thoughts were dark and foreboding. She hated to be alone with them. 

Is that really how Sarevok’s mind worked? Was his experience of life so warped that he could only comprehend friends as “pets”? What was he so afraid of? She wished she could talk to Jaheira about it. She had been traveling with the druid since Candlekeep, right after Gorion’s death. Jaheira and Khalid were surrogate parents to her, and Nessa would always have a place in her heart for both of them. Jaheira was sharp-tongued and often ill-tempered to boot, but she offered wisdom that was helpful to Nessa. Things were different since Khalid died, since he was _murdered_ by Irenicus. Jaheira also didn’t approve of Haer’Dalis’ flirtations and was furious when she accidentally barged into Nessa’s room and found the two of them half-naked in bed together. Nessa grinned a little at those memories. Jaheira was so mad, she herself had stuttered. 

Nessa took a deep breath and sighed loudly. It was time to go back, she had to talk this out with Imoen and Jaheira. There was enough conflict raging on in the outside world, they didn’t need it in their group. 

As Nessa approached the main dining area, she thought she could hear soft music. _Wow, am I that tired?_

She was surprised to see that the table and chairs had been replaced with brightly colored, plush cushions that were littered on the floor. Haer’Dalis had his back to her, but she could see that he was bent over a small, stringed instrument, and was strumming it gently. 

Valygar and Keldorn were both reclined on pillows, they had taken off their armor and she could see that Valygar had shared his new cache of tobacco. Imoen was seated in front of Jaheira, and the druid’s fingers were nimbly undoing the ragged braids that were scattered throughout Imoen’s hair. Even Cespenar was flying nearby, a safe distance from the group but she could hear the woosh of his leathery wings. 

“Cheeky imp,’ she thought to herself. “You’re supposed to by _my_ butler!”

Her friends saw her approach, and Valygar and Keldorn gave her their customary nods. Jaheira looked up and gave her a half-hearted smile, but Imoen kept her eyes lowered. As she walked around to seat herself on one of the cushions, Haer’Dalis glanced up from his instrument. A broad smile crossed the bard’s face.

“My love, come, relax and enjoy,” he said and motioned towards the floor before him. 

“Your loyal servant obliged us with comfortable seating, and even a well-tuned lute.” He plucked a few of the strings, the sound was soft and almost haunting. 

Nessa sat on a bright red cushion. She stretched her legs out in front of her and let her hips sink into the thick velvet. It felt amazing.

Haer’Dalis began to strum at the lute, and his long fingers glided across the neck of it. It had been a long time since he had performed for them, he used to do it occasionally when they had long days on the road and were camped for endless nights with nothing but simple bedrolls below them and the sky above. It was a welcome break from the monotony of the road. 

He began to sing. Haer’Dalis’ singing voice was entrancing, both deep and melancholy. 

After a lengthy, classic Tethyrian tune, Haer’Dalis gave the lute a few more strums and then gently placed it down on the ground beside him. 

“Bravo!” said Keldorn, in between puffs of smoke. “Your words never fail to tug at this old soldier’s heartstrings.” 

“My thanks. But I wonder if they also tug at your pursestrings, Sir Keldorn,” Haer’Dalis replied with a grin. 

“Typical bard, their fingers are as quick on a coin as they are on a harp,” Valygar said as he shifted to rest on his elbow. “But it was a good song.”

“Don't you know anything cheerful?” Imoen asked, her face scrunched up with disapproval. “That was kinda depressing.” 

“For you, my lark, anything.” Haer’Dalis paused and thumbed his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps ‘I’m Quite the Red-Roof Girl’ will do?”

“Ooh I’ve heard of that one before! I saw it in a book in Candlekeep,” Imoen said, and cocked her head at Haer’Dalis. “How do you know all of these songs?”

“Child, it is the man’s business to know songs, now hush and let me finish this,” Jaheira said, and yanked at one of Imoen’s matted braids.

“Ow!” Imoen protested.

Suddenly, Nessa noticed that Sarevok was standing off a ways from the group. 

The rest of the party fell silent as Sarevok walked towards them. Jaheira’s fingers continued working through Imoen’s hair, and smoke trailed from Valygar’s pipe, but no one spoke a word.

“That...was enjoyable, bard,” Sarevok said, and turned to face Haer’Dalis. “You are quite skilled at your craft.”

Haer’Dalis gave a small bow of his head and flourish of his arm. “This humble bard is in your service, my dark hound.” 

Sarevok moved towards one of the cushions that was the furthest from the others, and slowly lowered himself onto it. The soft material felt...good. 

Nessa hopped up and walked over to where Cespenar was hovering. 

“Hey, uh, Cespenar,” she started.

“YES?! Y-y-yes, master?” the imp stuttered nervously.

“Can you conjure up some drinks?”

 

\---------------------------------

 

Keldorn roared with laughter. “If you only could have seen his--well, her face! That wizard was mad, absolutely mad, but by Torm if he didn’t make one hell of a woman!” 

Imoen was laughing so hard she had tears rolling down her face. Even Jaheira couldn’t keep herself from smiling. 

“Remember how he couldn’t fit in his robes anymore, but he refused to get new ones?” Nessa said, giggling as she recalled the Thayvian wizard Edwin’s fury after an ill-fated adventure with a Netherese scroll. 

“I offered to alter them, but she wouldn’t let me near her,” Haer’Dalis added. “A shame, really.” 

“Oh don’t even tell me you would have tried to bed Edwina!” Nessa objected. 

“‘Tis only you, my love, who has mentioned bedding the wizard. I merely sought to protect her modesty,” he replied with an impish grin.

Nessa turned bright red. 

“A Thayvian? You surprise me, sister,” Sarevok added. 

“He was charming!” Nessa shot back, “plus he taught me a lot.”

“Oh?” Haer’Dalis asked, his eyebrows arched. “Is my dove hiding secret talents?”

“Magic!” Nessa cried, she could feel her cheeks burning. “Spells! He taught me spells!”

Jaheira rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. “My child, you never were a good liar.” 

Sarevok felt a smile tug at his lips. They were drinking wine and telling stories from their travels, he was mostly listening. He had never considered their journeys or thought to ask them about their exploits. It was strange, to listen to them talk, their voices full of affection and happiness. The bard would occasionally strum on the lute and hum some simple songs, then pause to lean forward and wrap an arm around Nessa, who was seated at his feet and leaned against his legs. 

Imoen was kneeling behind Jaheira, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground. Imoen’s slender fingers worked their way through the druid’s dark blonde hair. Jaheira’s face was relaxed, and a hint of a smile softened her tan face. There were a few scars littered across her cheek and brow, similar to Sarevok’s. He wondered how she had acquired them. He didn't know if it was the wine, or the music, or both, but in dim light of the pocket plane she looked quite striking. 

“Tell us a story about your travels, Haer’Dalis,” Imoen said, her brows knitted tightly as she tried to undo one of Jaheira’s braids. “Us ‘primes’ don’t know much about where you come from.”

“Yeah,” Valygar added, “or how you can be a damn good swordsman _and_ play a lute.”

The group laughed. Haer’Dalis waved his hands in front of him, shaking his head. “You flatter me, my hawk, but I wouldn’t want to dampen your spirits with tales of my home, ‘tis a strange place to the primes, strange indeed.”

“Oh come on,” Imoen coaxed. “Like...how’d you become a Doomguard, anyways? Did you just wake up one morning and think ‘man, I’d really like to hasten the inevitable destruction of the multiverse’ or was it a gradual thing?” 

“Doomguard?” Sarevok asked. 

“Tymora’s tits, start from the beginning,” Imoen sighed. 

Haer’Dalis laughed and began his tale. Most of it Nessa had heard before, like how he was raised in Sigil by his mother, who was a half-elf. He didn’t know much about his father, he passed away when the bard was young. Life in Sigil was difficult, and he often resorted to pick-pocketing and hawking goods in the marketplace to make ends meet. He had an older brother as well, though he never gave much detail about him, other than that he was also a Doomguard. Sigil was split into a number of factions, and the Doomguard was one of them. The Doomguard itself was split into 4 sub-factions, ranging from those who wished to slow entropy to those who wanted to accelerate it as much as possible. Haer’Dalis had hinted that he belonged to the latter group. 

“Membership is quite simple, one must first smash a prized personal weapon against the walls of the armory, to show dedication of course, then one must take a purse full of coin and scatter it in the Hive,” Haer’Dalis eyes twinkled. “If you started a riot, that was all the better.”

“Finally,” he said, and paused as he stifled a small yawn, “one must prevent the dabus from trimming razorvine on an overgrown building for one full day.”

“Dabus?” Imoen asked.

“Ah, yes, forgive me, the dabus are the servants of the Lady of Pain, they perform maintenance tasks related to Sigil, and anything else required of them by her Serenity.” Haer’Dalis sighed. “It has been a long time, my friends, a very long time.”

“So did you kill a dabus?” Imoen hiccuped as she asked, her eyes were looking glassy after her third glass of wine.

“No, my lark, no!” Haer’Dalis replied, “the Lady of Pain would either kill you in turn for such an offense, or worse, she could put you in a maze on a distant plane for years...eternity, even!” 

“Sounds more like a dungeon than a city,” said Valygar. 

“‘Tis true, my hawk, many hushed voices wonder as you do, if Sigil is nothing more than her Serenity’s own prison.” Haer’Dalis eyes looked off into the distance, his pupils unfocused. He took a quick drink of his wine, and slid a hand over Nessa’s shoulder. 

“So does everyone get special blades like yours?” Imoen pressed. She was feeling even nosier than usual.

“Ah ah,” Haer’Dalis clucked, and wagged his finger. “That knowledge, dear girl, is not for the uninitiated. My apologies, but I would not speak on this more...come, let us hear another’s tales.” 

“How about you, my fierce hound,” he said and turned to face Sarevok. “I have heard much of you from others’ mouths, but nothing from your own, mayhaps you have tales to tell?”

Sarevok frowned. He could feel the eyes of rest of the group on him.

“I have nothing to say, bard, that could follows such farfetched stories as your own.” If his words affected Haer’Dalis, he didn’t show it. The bard waved his hand dismissively. 

“Truth does no more good for a story than an old man does for a young girl, my friend, but nonetheless I will not be so easily put off the scent. Your hesitation only strengthens our curiosity.” 

“Bah,” Sarevok spat. “What do you want to know?”

“What’s it like having a piece of Nessa’s soul in there?” Imoen interjected. She was finishing up the last of Jaheira’s braids. “Do you feel any...different? Having weird flashbacks, sudden urges to hop in bed with an extraplanar being?”

“Planetouched, my lark, planetouched,” Haer’Dalis quipped.

Sarevok’s frown deepened. “That is none of your business, brat.” 

“We have shared our tales with you, and freely at that,” Jaheira said as she glided her fingers over her freshly plaited hair. “Can you not keep your foul tongue from hurling insults?” 

Jaheira looked at him, and for the first time since he had joined their group, there was no hostility in her gaze. Her eyes were shaped like Nessa’s, but were a shade of bright blue. They stared at him, unblinking, her face relaxed except for a hint of irritation. 

“Fine. I do feel...different, but I can’t say if it is the fraction of Nessa’s soul or years of death and torment that have caused it.” He looked at Nessa. “There are memories, as well, but they are not clear. Only fragments, flashes.” One of her eyebrows arched, and her face grew wary. 

“How about the urges?” Imoen pressed and tried to stifle a giggle.

“I had my fill of extraplanar beings in the Abyss, child,” Sarevok retorted. 

“Fine, fine, that’s good enough I guess,” said Imoen. The young mage gathered her robes and went to stand up. “Woooah,” she groaned as she wobbled and nearly fell back down. 

Valygar quickly shot up on his feet and grabbed her hand. “Easy,” he said, and wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. Imoen’s head rolled onto his shoulder as she tried to regain her balance.

“Thanks Valygar, I didn’t think I had…*hic* that much to drink,” she said. Valygar sighed. 

“Come on now, I’ll help you to your bed, I should get some rest anyways.”

“Ok but don’t get any ideas *hic*,” Imoen said as she stepped forward while still balancing against the ranger. 

Valygar shook his head and took the young girl off to her bedroll. 

Keldorn sighed loudly and stretched his long arms above his head. “I, too, must retire. We have a long journey before us, and unknown dangers await.” He stood up slowly, and bowed deeply at Haer’Dalis, and then the others. “I thank you again, my friend, for your entertainment. It is most welcome in these...dark days.” Nessa could see Keldorn’s gaze linger on her for a moment, before he turned to retire to his private sleeping area. 

Nessa was seated at Haer’Dalis’ feet, her back was pressed up against his shins. She was enjoying the heat that radiated from him, it was always a bit chilly in the pocket plane. The glass of wine had also helped warm her body and her spirits as well. She leaned her head against his knee, and wrapped an arm between his legs and around one slender, muscular calf. 

Haer’Dalis bent over and leaned his head down towards her, so that his mouth was beside her ear. She could feel his breath in her ear, and could smell a faint hint of wine. “My dove,” he whispered as his hot lips caressed the sensitive tips of her ears, “I am most eager for your company.” She shivered as he nuzzled the space between her neck and ear.

She let out a loud, possibly too-loud, yawn. “Well, I should probably get some sleep as well, come on Haer’Dalis you can...um...can you help me…clean my swords?” she stammered as she rose to her feet.

Jaheira snorted. “Is that what you children call it these days?”

Nessa felt her cheeks reddening again. Haer’Dalis chuckled and grabbed her hand. 

“Goodnight my friends, until tomorrow.” The two lovers walked arm in arm to their sleeping area, and the two left remaining in the main room could hear Nessa’s giggles echo across the chamber. 

Jaheira and Sarevok sat in silence. Jaheira had moved onto one of the cushions and had stretched her slender, muscular frame across it. Sarevok was reclining on one elbow, with his long legs sprawled out before him. He felt relaxed, the wine was of good quality and he was a bit light-headed. He hadn’t eaten much in days, so it seemed that even the small amount of alcohol had affected his thinking. Not that it was bad, he had to admit, the night had been quite pleasant.

“What will you do,” Jaheira began, her normally sharp voice now uncharacteristically soft, “when Nessa has no further need of your company?”

Sarevok paused before he replied. He felt a flicker of irritation at the implication behind the druid’s words, of course she assumed that Nessa would remain as she was, mortal. But that was not an issue to argue now, particularly not with Jaheira. 

“I…” he started, “I have not considered it.”

Jaheira turned to look at him, her large blue eyes scanned over his face. “You are a wanted man, Sarevok Anchev, there are many who will not rest until you are returned to the earth’s embrace.”

“Is that a threat, druid?” Sarevok retorted, his eyes meeting hers with an unwavering gaze.

“Not a threat, merely a statement of fact,” she replied. “I will respect Nessa’s wishes, for a time anyways.”

Sarevok laughed bitterly. “You fear _my_ treachery? Yet what is it you offer...death, again?”

“You are already dead, Sarevok,” Jaheira said, her eyes narrowing as she held his stare. “I killed you once, and your many victims will not rest until you are returned to where you belong.” 

Sarevok sat up, and his fists cracked as he clenched them. “My life is not yours to judge, woman, need I ask how many have fallen to your blade?” His eyes were beginning to glow, Jaheira could see a small ring of gold shimmering in the depths of their light brown.

“I strive to maintain the balance, foolish man,” she spat, “you will find no guilt hanging about these shoulders.” 

“Balance? Ha!” Sarevok growled. “You strive to maintain your own narrow ideals.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed with anger. “I will not have Gorion’s murderer speak to me with such impunity, beast!”

“Ah yes,” Sarevok sneered, “precious Gorion. A meddling, self-righteous Harper who was too busy avoiding his ward’s heritage to even prepare her for his own death.”

“The Harpers had nothing to do with--” Jaheira began, then stopped herself. 

A cruel grin spread across Sarevok’s face. He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Jaheira, Jaheira...a Harper in our midst, of course.”

Jaheira’s look turned venomous. “I said no such thing, you are--” 

“You need not say a thing, druid, that explains it all. I wondered how you were such close “friends” with Gorion, but I admit I never bothered to look into you or your fool husband’s history.” 

“You dare speak of Khalid? I will rip your tongue from your skull!” Jaheira cried.

Sarevok was unfazed. “I wonder,” he began, and scanned over her face as if trying to access some old memory. Memories of arrows raining down on a group of defenseless children, boots chasing after them, swords cutting them down. Sarevok running, his legs burning, his heart pounding so hard he thought he would die from the exertion. 

“You know nothing, nothing but lies and provocations!” The druid looked nervous. 

Sarevok’s eyes narrowed. His mind locked onto a memory, one stowed far away in the deep recesses of his mind. He remembered watching them as they approached, a small group of lightly armed men and women. There were a few elves, too, but he didn’t know what elves were at that age. He had a hiding place, one near the entrance to the temple, where he would go when ever he was avoiding the attention of the high priestess. 

He couldn’t remember much of that evening, but he saw all of their faces. Even the young woman’s, the one who was towards the back and had her face hidden under a dark green cloth hood. It had been Jaheira, he was certain, it had to be! That would explain why Gorion had directed Nessa to meet with Jaheira and Khalid, not because they were old friends, but because this was all part of their ‘mission’. Those damned Harpers were nothing if not relentless. 

They had slaughtered everyone. All of the Bhaalspawn they could find, save two. They didn’t know Sarevok was there and he fled after he saw the first children fall. Sarevok thought he was the only one who survived, but he found out later that Gorion had saved one child. Nessa.

It didn’t matter, he had killed Gorion in the end. 

“What offends you more, _Jaheira_ , that I have escaped your death sentence as the grown man you see before you?” he asked, his smile growing even more cruel, “or that I escaped it as a child?” 

Jaheira’s face froze. “I-I don’t know what you are talking about,” she stammered. 

“You lie woman, I wonder if Nessa knows what treachery hides among her ‘friends’,” he drawled. He was enjoying her discomfort. If he could, he would have strangled Jaheira where she sat. 

Her face grew pale. “They...everyone…” she whispered, “all of the…” She swallowed hard. “The children. You couldn’t have been there.” 

“Ah, but I was,” Sarevok said. He gave her a cold glare. “The memory grows clearer now, it has been many years. You were there, younger, dark green cape and leather armor.” He paused and watched the sweat form on Jaheira’s brow. “I heard only one name, Dermin. I tried in vain for years to find him, but without success.”

At the sound of Dermin’s name, Jaheira felt as if she would faint. She and Khalid had never spoken of that night again, and she had spent years trying to wipe it from her memory. 

_We must uphold the greater good, Jaheira,_ Dermin had told her. _We cannot allow Bhaal to return_. 

__Gods, it was a slaughter. She couldn’t bear to look at a child afterwards, she couldn’t even look in a mirror._ _

__“Sarevok, please, I’m s--” she began, but Sarevok’s face swiftly turned murderous._ _

__“No, Harper, it is _you_ who are nothing but lies and provocations. What is your intent now, to wait until the very end? To slip a dagger in Nessa’s back?” _ _

__“Blessed mother, no! I have defended her life with my very own! I--you cannot have been there, you can’t know these things, you can’t, you can’t” she repeated and clasped her hands to the sides of her head. She was beginning to shake._ _

__“Please, believe me, I thought we were going to take the children away!” Jaheira cried, and tears began to well in her eyes. “I thought we were going to take them from the priestesses, take them away from their fate, I had no idea…”_ _

__“Your excuses are pathetic,” Sarevok snapped._ _

__“What would have us do?” Jaheira retorted, anger growing in her belly. “Have a hundred Sarevoks destroy all of Faerun? We did what we thought we _must_!”_ _

__“In your foolishness, you created me, woman,” Sarevok hissed. “You created this ‘monster’,” he spat the word. “You kindled the first embers of the wrath that warmed me through my cold nights on the streets of Baldur’s Gate.”_ _

__Jaheira was speechless._ _

__“You will tell her, Jaheira, about all of this,” Sarevok said, his eyes locked on her. “Or else I will.”_ _

__He stood up. “You have one week.”_ _

__With that, he left._ _

__Jaheira would find no peace or rest that night, or for the many following._ _


	3. Mother

This chapter is about half as long as the others, I didn't want to add anything else to it because the next part of the story would make it too long. I've been sick, so lots of time for writing. Thanks for reading :) 

 

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Nessa had never seen a fire giant before, not this close anyways. They had been transported into a forest that Melissan said hid the ruins of an old Bhaalist temple. Yaga-Shura’s soldiers were easy to dispatch, but these fire giants… _They just won’t die_.

Their heads were a mass of shaggy red hair, and their arms and legs were as big as tree trunks. Fortunately for Nessa, they were also slow-moving, and she could easily dart around their attacks. She made the mistake of parrying one massive blow, and was flung yards away into a nearby outcropping of rocks. 

“Ugh,” she groaned, and wobbled a bit as she tried to stand back up. 

She could see Sarevok was hacking wound after wound into the one giant, but still the monster raged and swung his giant mace. Imoen was casting spells in between winging arrows at breaks in the giant’s armor, but it seemed that they were not piercing their tough skin.

Valygar must have realized his arrows weren’t effective either, because he threw his bow on his back and grabbed his katana. 

Jaheira rushed back to where Nessa had fallen, and pushed the elf back down to the ground. “I must heal you, child,” she said as she began to chant a healing incantation. 

“Jaheira, wait…” Nessa began, but she was interrupted by a loud cry from one of the giants. It was quickly followed by a sickening thud, a sound that made both her and Jaheira jump up. 

They could see Sarevok sprawled across the ground, unmoving. Haer’Dalis was standing near him, his face and hair were covered with blood. The fire giant was howling in pain, one of its arms was held a strange angle and blood was spurting on the ground beneath it. The tiefling lunged forward and slashed again, this time the cut severed the arm off completely. 

Nessa tried to run to Sarevok, but she was too wounded. Jaheira sprinted past her and dodged a swing from the second fire giant that was being held off by Keldorn and Valygar. She slid across the ground to where Sarevok was laying. 

He was still, but she could hear his breath rattling in his chest. Blood streamed out from his nose and mouth. Jaheira could see he had taken a heavy hit to his shoulder and head. She frantically tried to pull his helm off, as it slid off of his shaved head she could see black and blue marks across his cheek and temple. She grasped his face and began her incantations. 

“Bitta...mortis….careo…” She felt the healing magic flood through her body and into his. His skin was hot, and softer than she had anticipated. He was, after all, still a young man. It was hard to remember how young he was, that compared to her he was just a child. _A child…_

Sarevok’s eyes snapped open, and his chest heaved with a round of heavy coughs. Jaheira pulled her hands back, she didn’t realize she had left them lingering on his face.

His amber eyes fixed on her, his expression inscrutable. 

“You should be more careful,” Jaheira snapped, and reached to hand him back his helm. 

A flash of light whizzed past their heads, and they both turned to see Nessa launching magic missiles at the fire giant as Haer’Dalis continued hitting it with a flurry of blows. Sarevok lurched to his feet, but Jaheira held a hand to his chest to stop him.

“You must rest for a moment,” she said. The warrior snarled at her and shoved her hand off of his chest plate. He lifted his sword and rushed back into the fray. 

After a few more moments, both of the giants were dead. 

“Phew,” said Imoen, as she wiped sweat from her forehead, “that was tough.”

The others were similarly winded. As the dim of battle faded, Nessa finally began to study their surroundings. She looked back at the pile of rocks she had been flung into, and realized that they weren’t rocks, they were shaped stones. The moss beneath her feet partially obscured more stones, and she could see some dilapidated old pillars around the periphery. 

“Where are we?” she murmured, half-aloud. 

“You don’t know, sister?” Sarevok said, and let out a low chuckle. “We are standing on a monument to Bhaal, an old altar, a place of ritual sacrifice.” His eyes glowed softly. Nessa thought she could hear a hint of regret in his voice.

“Think of the blood that poured out onto these stones, the chants of his faithful, the power…” Sarevok’s voice trailed off.

“I’d really rather not,” Nessa said, and looked uneasily at the shape of what had to be a ruined altar. 

“You must feel it, even I can,” Sarevok said, and turned to Nessa. “There is strength for you in places like this.”

Nessa looked past Sarevok and could see Keldorn staring at the altar behind her. He looked the same as when they had watched a ritual blinding while they were uncovering a beholder cult in Athkatla. His face was a mixture of pity and disgust. 

Imoen was silent. There were whispers in her ear, too, but she didn’t want to tell Nessa about them. She didn’t want to tell anyone, she didn’t want them to give her the same worried glances they gave Nessa. She could feel the dark power that still hung in the air, the desecration that lingered. 

Haer’Dalis was busy wiping the giant’s blood from his face. When he severed the major artery in its arm, it was as if he had unleashed a hose of crimson water. He paused to look at the rubble around them. “No gods can escape entropy’s grasp, no temple, they are but memories that will fade in time as well.” 

Sarevok laughed. “Bhaal may be dead, but his power is not.” 

“For now, my hound, for now,” Haer’Dalis murmured, and continued to slick back his blood-caked hair. 

“We need to move on,” Nessa interrupted, and pointed to a large structure off to the north. “I want to reach the temple before nightfall.” 

She was uneasy, in this place. The altar both repelled her and attracted her, there were faint whispers that grew louder the longer she lingered in these loathsome ruins. She could hear the victim’s cries, as if from a great distance, should could imagine the blood pooling on the stones. The sound of knives, throats slit in ritual sacrifice, all to strengthen Bhaal and gain his favor. For a dark moment, she could imagine Sarevok, as he was in Baldur’s Gate, surrounded by his acolytes. 

_The power is yours, my daughter_ , a voice whispered, _you must take it from the undeserving_. She shook her head, as if to shake the thoughts from her mind. But there was a doubt, a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. She felt an odd sense of foreboding as she looked up at the dome of the temple that loomed far ahead. 

She steeled herself, and they began their trek to the temple in the Forest of Mir. 

 

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Melissan had told them that this was where they could find Yaga-Shura’s mother, but from the outside the temple looked deserted. The sun was beginning to set and it cast strange shadows across the wide stone path that lead to to the temple’s front steps. The sense of apprehension she had felt before was now dread, her hands felt clammy as they gripped the hilts of her swords. 

“I feel foul sorcery in this place, beware,” said Keldorn, and the paladin quickly cast a spell of true sight. 

As they approached the bottom of the great stairs, a ghostly form began to materialize. Nessa gasped as a shade of her foster father, Gorion, formed before her. 

“Nessa,” he moaned, and reached a ghostly hand towards her, “why have you failed me, Nessa.” 

“G-Gorion?” Nessa stammered. She blinked numerous times, but still the ghostly visage remained before her. She could hear Jaheira gasp.

“You have ignored my teachings, child, you have violated my memory,” the spirit continued. “You must cease this journey, you have become everything I died to protect you from.” 

“What?” Nessa gasped. “You--you can’t be Gorion, what are you saying?” 

“I am, my child, and you will listen to me, look at the blood on your hands! How many have you killed, how many lives have you ruined, cities torn apart?” The shade turned towards Sarevok. “You travel with a murderer, _my_ killer?” 

“A paladin who has abandoned his own family to seek his own selfish glory?” The shade pointed at Keldorn then swung his arm to Valygar. “A man who murdered his own _parents_?” Gorion looked at Imoen, and his face softened. “My dear child, she couldn’t save you from his cold hands, could she?” The blood drained out of Imoen’s face.

The shade reached its finger towards Haer’Dalis, “A fiend you let share your bed, even as he cloaks his dark heart in half-truths and honeyed words?” 

Keldorn and Valygar looked as if they had been struck, but Haer’Dalis only gave a soft, bemused laugh.

“You can’t be Gorion, he would never speak this way, never!” Nessa cried. She furiously began to cast whatever divination spells she had memorized, but to no avail. Gorion’s image still remained before her.

“Shh, my child, it will be alright. Bring her to me Jaheira, let us finish what we once began,” the shade shushed and motioned for Jaheira to come closer. The druid said nothing but shook her head. Her face was frozen with fear. 

“What do you mean beg--” Nessa started, but before she could finish the shade disappeared. 

 

Jaheira glanced over at Sarevok, she could see he had a small smirk on his face. He raised his eyebrows as he caught her looking at him, and she quickly turned back away.

His smirk faded at the apparition that rose before them. 

It was a woman, a human woman. Nessa had never seen her before, but she looked to be dressed in the same type of dress as the wealthier women in Baldur’s Gate. The elf glanced around the party, to see if anyone else recognized the ghost, but no one else seemed to. Until she caught a glimpse of Sarevok. He was pale, and his eyes were locked on the spirit. 

“My son,” the shade cried, “my dear Sarevok.” She was beautiful, with dark hair and eyes. If Nessa didn’t know better, she would have thought it really was his mother. _This must be his step-mother, the one from the journal_ , she thought to herself. The jagged tear on her neck confirmed Nessa’s suspicions. Rieltar had garroted her, in front of the young Sarevok, both a punishment for being unfaithful and a lesson for their son. Nessa shivered.

“How could you watch me die, you stood there and did nothing!” the shade wailed. “You watched as he _killed_ me, as the life drained from me I cried out to you, but you did _nothing_!” 

Sarevok was silent, but Nessa could see his breathing was rapid and shallow. 

“How many women have you slaughtered, you _monster_ , how many women have loved you, and how did you reward their affections?” the shade’s voice pierced the growing darkness. “You left them to DIE!”

Sarevok’s hands began to tremble. He felt the shade’s words begin to strike at his will. His singular focus on his destiny had clouded his vision, before, but now...memories were assaulting him. The death in Tamoko’s eyes when he sent her to face Nessa. His foster mother, the only person who had ever showed him love and kindness, dead on the floor. 

“I’ve seen them all, my boy, all of your lovers, all of your friends, all of your loyal followers, you lead them like lambs to the slaughter!” the shade continued. “No one can trust you,” the shade hissed, and pointed a shadowy hand at Sarevok. “No one can _love_ you, you are not worthy to walk this land!” 

_Not worthy…_ the words ignited a spark of anger. It coursed through his veins and flooded out the guilt and self-doubt. 

“Enough of your foul magic, show yourself!” Sarevok roared and lunged forward with his sword. He swung out and landed a blow that would have cleaved a person in half. 

The shade began to laugh, a sinister, cackling laugh. It twisted and grew, changing from the form of a woman to a pair of red eyes in a swirling cloud of black smoke.

\--------------------

 

The group sat on the cold, stone floor of the ancient temple. Nyalee had agreed to help them, she seemed eager to weaken her son, Yaga-Shura. Unfortunately, weakening him involved assaulting his stronghold and finding his and Nyalee’s heavily protected hearts. 

Nyalee had offered them refuge in the temple for the night and had hinted that she would take offense if they did not accept her offer of hospitality. She had made some sort of stew with a number of root vegetables and greens, as well as an unidentified meat. No one asked what it was, because no one really wanted to know. 

They were exhausted. The master wraith had been a difficult fight, and it brought waves of undead creatures to attack them as well. She knew it was an evil spirit, that the words were not Gorion’s, but they affected her still. Was there a hint of truth to them? Did the wraith peer into her own mind and find her insecurities, to use as weapons against her? Or did it see something that she could not, or would not herself see? 

Nessa glanced over at Haer’Dalis, who was slumped up against a wall next to Imoen. He was still covered in the fire giant’s now-dried blood, and he was looking out over the great expanse of forest that stretched past the outer walls of the temple. _He cloaks his dark heart in half-truths and honeyed words…_ This was a point of contention for Nessa, with Haer’Dalis, even from the first moment they met. He and his acting troupe had lied to her repeatedly about the nature of the gem they were seeking, how Haer’Dalis became trapped in Mekrath’s lair, and even who the gem belonged to. Nessa was understanding, she knew that sometimes you had to bend the rules to do the right thing, but in this case, the “right thing” seemed to be whatever the tieflings wanted. 

She _was_ comforted by his words, his open expressions of affection, the frequent compliments and caresses. But she hadn’t let herself think too long about what his intentions were, or why he stayed with her through all of these trials. She told herself it was because of the chaos that invariably followed her wherever she went. In her heart, she thought maybe it was because deep down, he loved her. Not in his way, in the way that fades and ends, but in her way. The kind of love that grows and strengthens in time. 

She felt stupid. Sarevok was right, she was foolish _and_ naive. But right now, she needed Haer’Dalis, and she didn’t care about what happened tomorrow, or the next day. If he was hiding something, then she would have to deal with that later. 

Everyone was quiet, there was a shroud of darkness that hung over the group. Nessa didn’t know if it was the temple, or the wraith’s words, or both. Sarevok was sitting off by himself, he had not spoken to anyone in hours. 

_Your brother is a broken man, my dove…_ Haer’Dalis had told her the previous night, as they laid on their bedrolls together. _I do not envy him, ‘tis a heavy price to pay to return to the mortal plane_. 

_Wouldn’t you do the same, if you could?”_ Nessa had asked him. The tiefling had glanced at her curiously. _Nay, my love, would you?_

Nessa hadn’t answered. She didn’t want to die, she knew that much. But her future was so dark, so unknown...she didn’t know if she wanted to live, either. 

 

Sarevok felt like he was drowning in his thoughts. He hadn’t seen his mother’s face in more than a decade, she had stopped haunting his dreams years ago. When he had killed Rieltar, _garroted_ him, he had felt closure. But now he remembered the powerlessness he had felt as he watched his father kill his mother, his beautiful mother. The same powerlessness as when he watched the Harpers slaughter his brethren, as when he was a hungry orphan on the streets of Baldur’s Gate, exploited by perverted men who silenced him with scraps of food. He had vowed in that moment when he watched his mother die that he would never let anyone control him again. He would have his revenge, not just on his father, but on the whole world. 

He knew the wraith’s words were false, but they clung to him. His mother would have despised who he became, just as she despised her husband. She had challenged Sarevok to be a better person. She had tried to cultivate compassion in him, the same compassion that she gave so freely. Rieltar had purchased her hand in marriage, but she bore her lot in life with grace and dignity. She had never thought that Rieltar would kill her, she was far too trusting of him. _Give him another chance, Sarevok,_ she had said, mere weeks before her death, _he is a difficult man, but he cares for you._ The welts on Sarevok’s back had told him otherwise. 

Sarevok’s gaze trailed over to the others. He could see Imoen was half-asleep on the ground, her head resting on a rolled-up bag of potions. Valygar was standing by the entrance, veiled in shadows and keeping the first watch. Keldorn was knelt in prayer. The bard was staring off into night sky, his lids heavy and his expression distant. Jaheira had her back to him, she appeared to be rifling through a case of scrolls. Nessa…

He felt a jolt, like he had been struck by lightning. In the dim light, her dark hair and shadowed eyes reminded him of his mother, if his mother had been elven. _You’re not alone_ , Nessa had told him. How many times his mother had said the same thing, during dark nights when the nightmares overwhelmed him. He would cling to her, sobbing, his young mind unable to cope with the harsh realities of life he had already experienced. He was so convinced that she would reject him, that a tantrum or a broken dish would be the last straw and he would be thrown back out on the streets. He hated being at her mercy, he hated that she had the power to soothe him, but he couldn't soothe himself. He craved her approval, he was desperate for her kindness, but he hated himself for needing it. 

In that moment, he couldn’t summon any hatred for Nessa. There was no bile that would come and stamp out the emotions that were assailing him. He felt similar to how he had felt before he had cultivated the taint that had laid dormant within him. He had been a passionate child. Brave, verging on reckless, but prone to a sentimentality that Rieltar thought demonstrated weakness. 

It _was_ a weakness, one that kept him from killing Nessa when he should have. He had met her, in Candlekeep, they had even spoken to one another a few times. She assisted the monks, and had helped Sarevok find a number of books for his research. The young elven girl was beautiful and kind, awkward but obviously bright. He felt drawn to her, in a way that he had assumed at the time was due to his age. Later he found out it was more than likely because she was, like him, a Child of Bhaal. 

He should have killed her there and then, when he found out she was Gorion’s ward and pieced together who she really was. But he couldn’t. He told himself it was because Candlekeep was well-protected and intolerant of violence, but he knew he could have found a way. It was his sentimentality; she reminded him of his mother. 

He had hired assassins, hoping that someone else could do the task for him. He relished killing Gorion, but even in that dark night he couldn’t bring himself to kill Nessa. Tamoko had pressed him to chase after her, but he had given a flimsy excuse. He was outraged that Tamoko had dared to question his judgment, but what angered him more was that he knew she was right. 

It was strange that Nessa had confessed her own reluctance to kill him. She didn’t even remember him, she didn’t know that she had met him many years before. But still...she tried to talk him out of their inevitable conflict, she tried to stop him at every turn but spared every life she could. He forced her hand. 

If he could dismiss her as a foolish hero, a rescuer of puppies and smiter of Evil, he would. But there was something more to her, an authenticity that defied petty stereotypes. He had joined her group convinced that he could change her, that he could bend her to his will. Now he wasn’t so sure. He was afraid that maybe, instead, it would be him who would be changed. 

A cold wind blew over the half-ruined walls of the temple. A crescent moon hung in the blue-black sky, its light softly illuminating the dense forest beneath. Wolves were howling in the distance, but there was no other sound to be heard, save the gentle crackling of Nyalee’s fire. 

The group sat there, together in silence, each contemplating the words of the wraith. Each struggling with their own regrets, their own demons. Doubt was their companion for the evening, and they struggled to find rest through the long night. 

 

\---------------------------------------------


	4. Secrets

Warning for rape and torture themes, nothing graphic.

I have been editing this chapter on and off for weeks and I just can't get it right. I finally gave up, it's lengthy and too dialogue-heavy, but I promise the story will progress in the next few chapters. Now that the holidays are over, I have more free time again. Thanks for reading!

 

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Nessa stood on the battlefield, her face speckled with bits of gore and hair and her heels sinking into the blood and rain-soaked earth. Yaga-Shura was dead, but it had been a terrible struggle. Her companions were alive, yet injured, Jaheira was out of healing spells and they had no potions left. They had _slaughtered_ Yaga-Shura’s forces, from the first ones they met on the way to the fire giant’s home, to these final loyal soldiers whose corpses were littered around her. 

She felt a wave of disgust, but to her horror, she couldn’t tell anymore if it was because of the senseless loss of life or because they dared stand against her. _Others have said the same, they are all dead now,_ she had told Illasera, and moments later Nessa was cleaning the half-elf’s blood off of her swords. It was true, no matter what sense she had tried to talk into Illasera, Gromnir, Irenicus, Sarevok even, they didn’t listen. She had felt guilty in those first months after Gorion died. She killed all of the assassins who were sent after her, they gave her no choice. She had tried to talk them out of it as well, but the promise of a few coins fooled them into thinking they could overpower her. _Kill or be killed._  
Did she even really care about Saradush? She tried to think about the poor people, their fear and the unfairness of the situation. She felt...nothing. Her purpose was becoming increasingly narrow, she was so focused on ending the prophecy that she was losing sight of the human cost of the whole endeavor. 

Her heart began to race and her robes suddenly felt like they were choking the air out of her. She swung her head around wildly, all she could see was bodies. The stench of death, the catapults that were still burning, the grind of war, it invigorated the essence that churned within her. It dominated her senses, but her mind struggled against the bloodlust. She began to pull frantically at the fabric near her throat, “I can’t _do_ this anymore!” she cried out, she felt like she was on fire. Nessa grabbed her face and could feel her cheeks were burning, but when she pulled her hands back all she could see was the blood on them. She lurched back and tripped over a corpse behind her, Keldorn tried to grab her arm but she fell down to the wet ground. The dead body was face down in the mud, but his head was turned towards Nessa. The man’s mouth was agape, his face expressionless, his blue eyes empty. For a short moment, she wondered what his name was. She hadn’t even thought of him as a person when she had cut him down, mere minutes before. 

“Nessa!” she could hear Haer’Dalis shout, and she could faintly feel a pair of hands yank at her robes. Her eyes were still locked on the dead man, her legs were sprawled over his back and she was trying to crawl away. Everything was swimming, then it faded to black.

\-------------

She was sucked into the pocket plane. The solar greeted her, but Nessa still felt like she was going to faint. She wavered on her feet as she met the Solar’s gaze, the ethereal being’s hand stretched out towards her and grasped one of her shoulders. Nessa could feel a wave of calm flow into her, as if the Solar was cleansing the anxiety from her mind. 

“You must learn about your past, godchild, to be truly prepared for your future,” she said, and with a wave of her arm Gorion stood before them. Nessa was immediately suspicious, it was only days before that the master wraith had attempted to use her foster father against her. She glanced up at the Solar, who merely smiled warmly and nodded her head in encouragement. Nessa wiped the bloody sweat off of her brow and steadied herself. Seeing Gorion again, his kind face, his soft gray robes that she could remember hiding in as a child. She wished she could find some comfort in her memories, but there was none left. 

“My child,” Gorion sighed, “how could I have told you? What words could I have used? I _saved_ you from your mother, she would have slain you in sacrifice to your father.” The mage’s words were sincere, his brow was creased and his eyes heavy with concern. She still couldn’t shake off the suspicion that lingered in her heart, or the resentment that had been growing. 

Nessa could not remember her mother, or any of her life before Candlekeep. Maybe she was too young, or maybe the memories were just too unpleasant.

“I...I loved your mother, Nessa, but she was too far drawn into Bhaal’s darkness,” Gorion continued, then hesitated. “I could only save one child Nessa, you must understand…”

Out of the corner of her eye Nessa could see a figure begin to materialize. It was a young child, a human boy of maybe 5 years. His eyes were a light amber color, his expression defiant. He looked oddly familiar to Nessa, but she couldn’t put her finger on where had seen him before. 

Suddenly, it dawned on her. “Sarevok?” Nessa gasped. He had no tattoos, and had a short ponytail of smooth, black hair, but she was certain it was him. 

“Yes,” the Solar said, and turned to the young boy. “Please, godchild, tell us what happened to you that evening.”

“I escaped,” the boy replied flatly. He was eyeing Nessa and the Solar suspiciously, and before he could turn to face Gorion the mage disappeared. 

“Escaped from what?” Nessa asked, not even noticing that Gorion had vanished. “Were...were you there, too?” 

The young Sarevok laughed, it was a chilling, mirthless sound. “Of course, _sister_ , you were not the only one to survive.”

“Survive?” 

“It mattered not, I _killed_ Gorion in the end,” the young boy hissed. “I hunted him down, just like his _friends_ hunted us.” The child’s eyes narrowed, and a cruel grin spread across his lips. “I cursed them as I choked the life out of the old man.”

Nessa felt a jolt of surprise. “What do you mean, hunted you? Who hunted you?”

“They came in the night, I watched them kill our brothers and sisters, but _I_ escaped,” the boy answered. He was so cold, so emotionless. Nessa felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

“They?” she asked, the word catching in her throat. Her mouth was dry and her tongue like sandpaper.

“The Harpers, of course,” the boy replied, his eyes unblinking as they met Nessa’s. “Those meddling fools thought they could stop us, they thought they could keep _me_ from achieving my _destiny_!” 

Nessa felt like the room was spinning. _The Harpers...how...what…_

“No...n-no it can’t…,” she stuttered. “Why would they kill children, that’s not poss-”

The young boy laughed again. “Children of _Bhaal_ ,” he sneered.

Suddenly it all made sense. Why Gorion hid her true nature from her, why he insisted that she meet with Jaheira and Khalid. Elminster randomly showing up all of the time. _Jaheira...oh gods, was she there, too?_ The nausea grew stronger. Why did Gorion save her? What about Imoen? Questions were swirling in her mind. 

_Why hasn’t Sarevok told me any of this?_ All of that time of Imoen and Jaheira hurling insults at him about being Gorion’s killer, all of the confrontations in Baldur’s Gate. Why wouldn’t he tell them, why wouldn’t he try to justify his actions? But she knew why, deep down, she knew that no one would believe him. Even if he wanted to vindicate himself, which he certainly did not, everyone would think it was another one of his many manipulations. 

Her foster father had not been truly honest with her, it would seem. The shock passed, it was replaced with a keen sense of betrayal. 

_I could only save one child, Nessa, you must understand..._

Oh, she understood. The Harpers liked to be judge, jury, _and_ executioner. 

The solar appeared before her. “Now you know the story of your rescue, my child, and that your fate was not shared by others.” The solar’s golden eyes shimmered with a bright yellow light, her skin was an ethereal white with a cast of blue. “Is there a debt yet unpaid?”

“What do you mean?” Nessa replied, but she already felt the answer burning in her belly.

“Would Sarevok’s fate have been different if he were rescued, and not you? Is he a product of his choices, or of circumstance?” the Solar pressed, her eyes unblinking. 

“Can’t it be both?”

“Godchild, you avoid the question...do you _feel_ a debt towards your half-brother?” 

Nessa sighed, this was not the first time she had considered this question. Sarevok had haunted her, ever since his death at Baldur’s Gate. Were they so different? He was defiant against the world, and she couldn’t blame him after what she had learned about him in the past few days. She was defiant as well, against the prophecy she felt had been foisted upon her against her own will. _It was his choice to be a conniving bastard,_ she had told herself. But did they really _have_ a choice? Did he? 

“I...yes, there is,” she replied. An image of Tamoko’s face flashed in her memory. She thought the cleric was just a lackey, a leech, it seemed like everyone in Sarevok’s circle was only concerned with their own benefit. Maybe she had been wrong about the Kara-Turan. 

The solar smiled, a warm smile that radiated brightness in the dark cavern. “Then you are one step closer to understanding your destiny, godchild.”

Nessa felt herself being pulled back into the battlefield outside of Saradush. Haer’Dalis’ hands were still grasping at her robes. He yanked her up to standing, and she could see concern in his dark eyes.

“My raven, I think we should rest,” he said, the calmness in his voice hiding his discomfort. She could see that he was covered in dirt and blood, they all were. Something about it made him more handsome, and she let her body slump against his chest. She didn’t care what anyone thought, not right now, she needed whatever fleeting moments of comfort she could find.

“Is she ill?” a deep voice boomed from behind her. The image of the young Sarevok flooded her mind again. She didn’t dare turn to look at him, he was too perceptive. 

“I’m fine,” she replied, her face buried in Haer’Dalis’ soft hair. “I just got overheated.”

Sarevok snorted. “Overheated? Sometimes I wonder how it is possible that you have come this far, sister,” he sneered. 

“Cut it out, dead guy,” Imoen snapped.

“Children,” Jaheira interjected as Imoen and Sarevok began squaring off against each other, “we are all weary and must rest.” 

Nessa pulled away from Haer’Dalis, and turned towards the others. They looked as tired as after they had battled Irenicus. She saw that Jaheira was avoiding eye contact with her, she had noticed the druid had been acting strangely but she assumed it was just one of her moods. 

“We can journey to Amkethran in the next few days, there is another challenge waiting for me,” she felt her words catch in her throat as her eyes met Sarevok’s. His eyes narrowed with a hint of suspicion. She cleared her throat and continued.

“I have some things I need to sort out, after we’ve eaten and cleaned up.” The others peered at her curiously, but in a flash they were returned to the pocket plane.

\----------------------------

Haer’Dalis and Nessa were freshly bathed and were sitting on their bedroll. The tiefling’s face was emotionless, but Nessa could sense frustration in his stiff manner. They were silent and tension was hanging in the air.

“I do not wish to heap troubles on your pretty head, my raven,” Haer’Dalis began quietly, his gentle voice barely escaping his lips. “The path you tread is difficult, I feel as if we are being dragged along a narrow path, towards an inescapable doom…”  
Nessa laughed, a bit too bitterly. “Don’t you just call that _life_?”

Haer’dalis sighed and she immediately regretted her tone. 

“I am fortunate that you allow me to remain at your side, my love, for as long as you will have me,” said the bard, and he looked down at her pale hands. They were small, but strong, and he traced over her rough calluses with his thumbs. “But if I said I did not worry for you, ‘twould be a lie.” 

The shade’s words came back to Nessa, she felt a suspicion that had been growing in the back of her mind come to the forefront. 

“Why _do_ you stay, Haer’Dalis?” she questioned, her green eyes rising to meet his. He was taken aback at the suspicion in them, at the coldness of her gaze.

“Where else would I go?” he answered, his voice earnest. “I am a moth drawn to your flame, Nessa,” he said, his eyes not moving from hers, “I cannot tear myself away from you, even if it consumes me.” They sat there for a few moments, she could see no guile in him. His broad face was tanned and had a faint pinkish glow from harsh scrubbing. The usual remoteness in his expression was gone, instead replaced with a vulnerability that surprised her. 

In that moment, she felt like she would rather be plopped back in Irenicus’ dungeon than ask him such a stupid question again. Haer’Dalis had been nothing but supportive of her through their time together. He never asked such questions of her.  
“I’m sorry, I don’t what’s gotten into me,” she said as she flung her arms around his neck. She could feel the bard’s muscles relaxing as he gave a relieved sigh. 

She gripped him tightly and buried her head in his shoulder. He smelled like soap with a faint hint of brimstone. She remembered the first time she had been close to him, there was something about him that made her slightly uneasy. He felt dangerous, it made her hairs prickle. 

“I do not wish to pry, my love, but please tell me,” Haer’Dalis said, and pulled back his head so that he could see her face. “Did the words of the wraith sow seeds of suspicion in your mind, or is it something that I have done or said?”  
Nessa peered up at him. “The wraith?” she asked, “I...well…”

“You have been distant since the temple,” he continued, and swept a rogue lock of hair out of her eyes.

“You aren’t exactly the most honest person, Haer’Dalis, so maybe it did hit a nerve, I don’t know…”

Haer’Dalis’ flashed a grin at her. “My raven, I may not have been forthright about the Sigil Troupe’s dealings with Mekrath, but I assure you,” he said, and gave her a light kiss, “anything I keep from you is not born from deceit, but from selfishness.” She looked at him, confused. 

“Selfishness?”

“Aye, my love, there are dark memories that I do not wish to relive, or even to remember at all.” His face flashed a momentary regret, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. “The wraith’s words were intended to poison our hearts, there was only enough truth in them to cut a wound.” He kissed Nessa again. She sighed and leaned back onto his shoulder. 

“Tell me your worries, my dove, let this bard try to ease your heavy heart,” he said and softly stroked her plaited hair. 

She told him what had transpired in the pocket plane. The bard listened silently as she told him about the young Sarevok, and the truth about the Harpers’ involvement with the Bhaalspawn. 

“Do you think it’s possible? That Gorion could have...that even Jaheira could have done something that...monstrous?” Nessa asked. She could feel tears starting to dampen her eyes.

Haer’Dalis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “These...Harpers?,” he began, “I did not care for their manipulations in Athkatla, although I must admit I did find the final exposition most entertaining… “death will come on wings of song,” was it?”

“Come on...that poetry was terrible.”

“Aye, ‘twas, but it is not often that an assassin greets their quarry with verse!” Haer’Dalis grinned. “To answer your question, my dove, yes, I do believe that a group such as these Harpers could be led on dark paths by a misguided sense of righteousness. Their plot to end the necromancer was convoluted merely to keep their own hands clean, because in their mind, ours were already dirty.” He paused, and gave a light chuckle. “It is ironic, my dear Nessa, is it not?”

“Ironic?” Nessa replied. The Harpers’ ploy to kill Xzar had infuriated her at the time, she had thought the whole thing was strange and a waste of her time. She didn’t have any love for the Zhent, but she also didn’t have any reason to kill him.

“They sought the destruction of the Bhaalspawn, no?”

“Yeah, because we were a threat to “goodness” and “balance” and all of that,” Nessa scoffed. 

“Were?” Haer’Dalis laughed. “My dear, do not underestimate yourself! There is no ‘balance’ in the marvelous destruction you and your kind rain down upon the lands!”

“Thanks,” Nessa deadpanned, her face a scowl.

“I meant no insult,” Haer’Dalis said and reached to place a warm hand on her bare knee. “There is beauty in such power, my love.”

Nessa shook her head. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?” The bard grinned. 

“It is only in your company that I find myself bereft of all sense, dear Nessa,” he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Regardless, do you not think it ironic that the end they sought, to destroy the Bhaalspawn, is quite possibly your father’s same plan?”

Nessa sighed. “Everyone seems to think their world would be better with all of us dead,” she replied. “I definitely don’t think Bhaal intended to keep any of us alive, Sarevok thought there would be some sort of succession but I can’t image Bhaal is one to share.”

“But if one was strong enough to take his power from him…” Haer’Dalis said, his voice trailing off. His face was a mask of calm, but Nessa could see a shadow of apprehension. She leaned forward and put her hands on his face, her fingers gently laying over the markings on his cheeks. 

“I’m not going to do that.” Her eyes were locked on his. 

The bard laughed wistfully. “‘Tis not you that concerns me, my raven.”

“What?” Nessa said, her brows suddenly furrowed. “Sarevok can’t, I doubt the others are any stronger than Yaga-Shura was…”

“I do not trust the part this Melissan has to play in the Bhaalspawn saga,” Haer’Dalis replied, “her presence does not make sense, her benevolence is forced, her speech rehearsed.” 

“But she’s not a Bhaalspawn, so what danger is there? What’s the worst that could happen?” Nessa said, her head cocked to one side. 

“My love, my sweet love,” Haer’Dalis said and shook his head softly. “Irenicus was not of Bhaal’s blood, but he sought his power, no?” Nessa nodded, she had been so focused on her part in the prophecy that she had forgotten how much trouble outsiders could cause for her. Irenicus had nearly killed her, more than once. 

“I hadn’t thought of that, there is something strange about her but I can’t quite put a finger on what it is,” Nessa said. Melissan made her uneasy, everything was too easy, almost like it was planned. 

“I must admit, I feel that Sarevok will be a valuable ally to you, I am not surprised that these revelations have proven you both to be more alike than you had anticipated,” Haer’Dalis said. “I see his eyes on you, he steals glances and his gaze lingers longer than he wishes it to.” The bard peered at her, his look guarded. “Your feelings for him are similar, yes?”

“Wh-what?” Nessa sputtered. “He’s my _brother_!”

“Half-brother,” Haer’Dalis corrected her. “Besides, with his Bhaal essence drained, I cannot imagine that you have any lingering relation.You are an elf, he is human, it is not possible.”

Nessa frowned at him. “Are we seriously talking about this?” 

Haer’Dalis laughed, a deep throaty laugh from deep in his chest. Nessa still scowled. “It’s not funny!” she protested. 

“I apologize my love, I must admit I am glad if I mistook your curiosity for something deeper,” he said and leaned forward to wrap her in a warm embrace. “Try as I may, this sparrow is all too vulnerable to jealousy’s sting.” 

“Ooh, _jealous _?” Nessa purred, “I didn’t think a doomguard would be the type to get jealous…” She slid closer to him and pressed into his side.__

__Haer’Dalis laughed. “Jealousy is one of my many weaknesses, my raven, I thought I had left it behind many years ago, but you…” He paused and gave a long sigh as she slid a hand up his arm. He could smell the soft scent of her skin as she leaned towards him and grabbed his face with her other hand._ _

__“Shouldn’t you speak with Jaheira f--,” Haer’Dalis began to protest, but he was silenced by a forceful kiss. The elf gently pushed him onto his back and climbed over him, her legs straddling his torso. Their lips locked in a long, passionate kiss, and Nessa struggled to pull at the bottom hem of his shirt. Haer’Dalis pulled back from her and laid his head on the bedroll, pausing to take in the sight of her on top of him._ _

__Her hair was long and black as ebony, it was tousled and in a loose braid. Her green eyes looked dark brown in the low light, and they contrasted with her fair skin. She was slender, but her figure was obscured by the shift dress she had put on after bathing. He had memorized the curves underneath, every scar, every spot. There were scars that littered her thighs and back, the product of Irenicus’ tortures, but they were nothing more than silvery lines now. She had been so embarrassed, when they first made love, she had tried to hide herself from him. Haer’Dalis would never forget the shame in her eyes when she stood before him. There were many scars, too many for someone so young, but Haer’Dalis had swiftly shed his clothing to show her his own markings. She had gasped at the particularly vicious scars left on him from trying to steal from the wrong demon._ _

___I see nothing but beauty before me, my love,_ he had told her, and it was true. He had felt as if he would burst with desire, he had wanted to bring her to his bed for weeks, months even, but he had forced himself to wait. He wanted to know her before he knew her body. He had not anticipated being in the company of a god-child, and he wasn’t sure what he would be getting himself into. _ _

__She peered at him curiously. “What’s wrong?”_ _

__Haer’Dalis shook his head, and his earrings jingled softly. “Nothing, my love, simply admiring you.”_ _

__Nessa grinned and made a face, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue. Haer’Dalis laughed and grabbed her waist, his hands pressing her hips against his._ _

__“You are beautiful, no matter what manner of silly expression you choose,” he said, and leaned up to kiss her._ _

__After a few moments he pulled away from her again, and laid back against a pillow. “Come on!” Nessa protested, and again tried to tug at his garments._ _

__“You _must_ speak with Jaheira, my raven,” Haer’Dalis said and slid his body out from under her. “Tempting as it may be, I cannot allow myself to be a distraction.”_ _

__Nessa stuck out her bottom lip in a fake pout. Haer’Dalis grinned and reached a hand to her chin and caressed her lip with his rough thumb._ _

__Nessa knew he was right. She wanted to delay talking to Jaheira because she feared what the outcome of their talk would be. Maybe Haer’Dalis was right, sometimes a lie is better than the truth. She’d argued numerous times with him about honesty, she insisted that the truth was always better, and he would balk at even the _concept_ of ‘always’. _ _

__If Jaheira had been there at the temple that night, if she had _killed_ Nessa’s half brothers and sisters...Nessa shuddered to think about it. Most of all, she was worried about what that meant for Jaheira’s continued presence in their group. Was she a threat? What would she do, if Nessa and Imoen were the last Bhaalspawn left alive? Was she still acting on orders of the Harpers, was she...spying for them? Jaheira was like a mother to her, underneath the sarcasm and stubbornness was a kind heart. She hadn’t questioned Jaheira’s loyalty, or Khalid’s. _Khalid..._ She tried to shake the memory of him from her mind. She would never stop feeling responsible for his death, _never_. She would never forget Jaheira’s voice, the guttural shriek that ripped from the half-elf’s chest when she realized that the decaying, mutilated corpse was her husband._ _

__“Tell me what you see, my dark muse, it is as if I gaze into a mirror,” Haer’Dalis said, his voice soft and his eyes bright with interest. “It is not often that you allow me behind the mask of your smile.”_ _

___Mask of your smile…_ She peered at Haer’Dalis, how was he so perceptive? Sometimes it seemed like he knew people better than they knew themselves. It was a strange talent, and it was unnerving as well. _ _

__“I...I was thinking about Jaheira’s husband,” she replied._ _

__“The druid is married?” Haer’Dalis looked surprised. “‘Tis difficult to imagine.”_ _

__“Was,” Nessa corrected. She felt tears welling up and she fought them back. “He...Irenicus killed him. He made Imoen watch as he performed experiments on him, Khalid didn’t survive them,” she swallowed hard to steady her voice. “The body was too far gone when we found him, there was nothing we could do.”_ _

__“Ah,” Haer’Dalis almost whispered, “‘twould explain much.”_ _

__Nessa nodded. “We couldn’t even bury him, we had to escape, I closed his eyes and Jaheira said a quick prayer but it was such a mess she couldn’t even bear to look at him.” The tears began to spill out, she could feel their heat on her cool cheeks.  
“It was my fault, Irenicus wanted me, and Imoen...because we’re Bhaalspawn,” Nessa said, her hands trembling. “Jaheira tried to warn me that people would hunt me down, but I wouldn’t listen, and now Khalid’s dead.”_ _

__Haer’Dalis reached towards her and brushed the tears off of her cheeks with his rough fingers._ _

__“Don’t you understand?” Nessa cried, and grabbed his hands. “Everyone around me dies, there’s no happy ending here, it’s all death, death if I succeed, death if I fail!”_ _

__Haer’Dalis grinned and leaned forward, she could feel the heat radiating off of him. “Death is every ending, my love, I do not wish to trivialize your pain but no one can avoid the inevitability of oblivion.”_ _

__“It didn’t have to be like that,” Nessa said and shook her head. “Khalid could have died an old man, he could have had children, he didn’t deserve to die like that.” She pushed his hands away. “It’s easy to talk about oblivion Haer’Dalis, but Khalid died alone, probably afraid, and in excruciating pain. Who knows what Irenicus did to him before he died, Imoen won’t talk about it but she went nuts when she saw the body. Are you telling me that torture is entropy?”_ _

__Haer’Dalis smile faded. “I didn’t mean to…”_ _

__“Jaheira was in a cell, alone, she didn’t know where Khalid was. He probably died not even knowing if his wife was alive or dead. Irenicus raped Imoen repeatedly, don’t you think Khalid would be afraid the same thing would happen to Jaheira? And he was _powerless_ to do anything, we all were,” Ness continued, her green eyes shining brightly with anger. _ _

__Surprise shot across Haer’Dalis’ face. “Nessa,” he began, his dark eyes burning into hers as if he was searching for something. “Did he...were you...”_ _

__Nessa laughed. “Raped?” she asked, her voice hollow, devoid of emotion. He could see a sudden flash of cruelty in her expression. “I did what I had to, to survive,” she said, “he was obsessed with Queen Ellesime, he even tried to make copies of her, he must have been quite _thrilled_ when he found out his Bhaalspawn prey was an elf.” _ _

__Haer’Dalis was speechless. His brows were knitted with confusion, Nessa could feel him pull away from her._ _

__“You aren’t the only one who can play a role,” she said, and felt a pang of shame as she sensed him move away from her. “I thought going along with things would make it easier to escape, or at least survive, then when I realized he was trying to provoke the Bhaal essence I thought maybe he could take it away,” she continued. She sighed and buried her face in her hands. “I should have told you sooner what a monster I really am, I didn’t think we would get this close, I’m...she paused as a wave of regret pulsed through her. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__She felt warm arms wrap around her and embrace her tightly. “Never apologize for anything that we have shared, Nessa,” he said, and she could feel his soft hair against her face and his breath on her neck. “‘Tis I who should apologize, I should have known…”_ _

__“That I’m a monster?”_ _

__Haer’Dalis clucked his tongue and tightened his grip on her. “I have seen many demons, my love, and I have the scars and the memories of them as well. You are no monster. I mistook your hesitation for inexperience and insecurity, my raven, I never imagined…” he began, but stopped himself._ _

__“He didn’t hold me down and rape me, Haer’Dalis, I said I went along with his games,” she said, her voice guarded. “I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”_ _

__“There is no shame in survival, Nessa, and if you seek judgment you will find none here,” Haer’Dalis replied. “I will not deny curiosity about your past, about what has shaped the woman before me, but in truth, trepidation grips my heart when I consider telling you what lengths I have gone to, to survive.” He turned his face to whisper into her ear. “I thank you for sharing these things, my raven, I hope one day to earn the trust that you give so freely.”_ _

__Nessa felt a rush of relief. She had never told anyone about what she had done with Irenicus, it haunted her dreams but she had pushed it out of her waking thoughts. The beautiful clothes, the perfectly decorated room, the silk sheets...she had counted every mosaic tile on the ceiling as she waited for him to be done with her. Hours could go by, to no avail, his body was too far gone to finish the deed. He smelled like a corpse, and the scent lingered on her until after she escaped. Sometimes he would bring one of the copies, but they always either fell apart or fought back until he was angry enough that he killed them. _The Shattered One…_ Joneleth. Even her copies were disgusted with who he had become._ _

__She had expected him to enrage afterwards, to punish her for his failure. But the rage never came, he would simply send her back to her cell. The torture came later. She had thought about trying to kill him, wondered if he was vulnerable enough in those moments to overpower him, or even charm him, but had been too afraid to try. What if she had failed? What if he killed the others as punishment?_ _

__She shook the thoughts from her mind, pressed them back into the dark recesses of her memory. He was dead, it was over. She wouldn’t let him have any power over her anymore. It felt good to tell someone, to get it out into the open, but it made her feel excruciatingly vulnerable._ _

__“You...you don’t find me repulsive?” Nessa asked, her voice still unsure._ _

__Haer’Dalis shook his head and she could feel his earrings dance across her cheek. “No, my love, quite the contrary…” He buried his hands in her dark hair, the scent of it washed over him. “I lost my innocence long ago, if I ever even had such a thing in the first place...I understand firsthand the double-edged sword of survival.”_ _

__Nessa let out a long sigh. “I keep thinking about Jaheira,” she said, and pressed her head into his shoulder. “If she had killed me, that night, Khalid would probably still be alive. I wonder how often she thinks that, too.”_ _

__“I doubt she has ever considered it, my raven,” Haer’Dalis replied. “Truthfully, it is difficult to believe that she participated in such a pointless slaughter. She seems to respect the hand of fate, she chafes at your brother’s attempts to circumvent his destiny.”_ _

__“I’ve always wondered what could have happened, if I had fought Irenicus instead of going along with him…,” Nessa whispered._ _

__“Nessa, you can’t punish yourself with these kinds of thoughts,” Haer’Dalis interjected. “There is only one reality, one present, what purpose is there in questioning what could have been?”_ _

__“Wallowing in my own guilt?”_ _

__Haer’Dalis shook his head and stroked her hair. “Talk to her, my raven, find the answers you seek.”_ _

__\-----------------------------------_ _

__Jaheira sat at the wooden dining table, it had long been cleared but she remained. Keldorn and Valygar had gone to their own quarters, and Sarevok had left but had said nothing. She gritted her teeth as she thought of the warrior, that damned bastard, she should have never been alone with him. What had she been thinking? The wine had relaxed her, the music had lulled her into a false sense of security, the stories they shared made her feel a camaraderie that overpowered her mistrust of _him_. He looked alive, he smelled alive, but he was an abomination. _ _

__She remembered the feel of his skin under her hands, his heavy cheekbones dwarfed her slender fingers. He couldn’t be older than 27 or 28, but his face was covered in scars and tattoos. _You created me…_ She shuddered to think of that night, to think of what could have been going through the child’s mind as he fled for his life. _ _

__What could she say to Nessa? Jaheira had joined the Harpers when she was young, she had met Khalid and he was already a member. He believed in them without reservation, but she wasn’t so sure, as a druid she felt compelled to avoid groups that fell too heavily on the side of ‘good’ or ‘evil’. But Khalid was her weakness and his conviction eventually convinced her to join with him. Her attachment to them had grown looser throughout her travels with Nessa, especially after Khalid’s death, but she knew that leaving the Harpers was impossible. How could she explain any of this to Nessa?_ _

__Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps approaching. She looked up and saw Sarevok striding towards the table, he was dressed in a light tunic and his legs and feet were bare. They glared at one another as he approached, and he stopped as he drew near her and stood, towering over her._ _

__“Preparing your confession?” he said, his deep voice breaking through the silence._ _

__“What business is that of yours?” Jaheira snapped. Sarevok snorted and gave her a wicked half-grin._ _

__“I have been enjoying your discomfort, half-breed, and I regret that it will be ending so soon,” he sneered. Jaheira’s jaw clenched at his insult, it had been a long time since anyone had dared to call her that._ _

__“Is this all you know? Insults?” Jaheira cried, her voice cracking. “If my suffering warms your cold heart then so be it, _revenant_ , but it cannot change the past.”_ _

__Her openness caught Sarevok off guard, he was anticipating anger and vitriol, but he could see none in her eyes. Instead there was defeat, resignation even._ _

__“There is nothing I can do to change what has been done, Sarevok, I have traveled with Nessa all of these months, years, to try to make up for that night,” Jaheira continued, “and now you--I--.” Her chest heaved and she took in a deep breath to steady herself, then turned her blue eyes to meet Sarevok’s._ _

__“Do you think that I will feel any pity for you, Jaheira?” Sarevok snarled._ _

__She laughed bitterly. “I do not, no,” she said, “I doubt you can feel anything at all. You are nothing but blind ambition that will tear apart everything unfortunate enough to fall in your path.” Sarevok’s face stiffened._ _

__“My ambition died when I died, woman,” he snarled._ _

__“Oh?” Jaheira retorted, “then why are you already separating Nessa from those closest to her? You wait to cleave me from our group, your constant bickering with Imoen has driven a wedge that deepens everyday,” her eyes narrowed as she continued, “and do not think that I have not noticed your disdain for Nessa’s lover.”_ _

__“Bah,” Sarevok scoffed, “the bard is insufferable, I need no ambition to tire of his endl--”_ _

__“I am no fool,” Jaheira interrupted, ignoring Sarevok’s poisonous glare, “you work to isolate Nessa, to influence her, you know that we would _never_ encourage her to seek her father’s throne.” _ _

__Sarevok fell silent, but a dangerous look flashed over his face. “Watch your words, druid,” he growled._ _

__“I will watch nothing, beast, I am sorry for my actions and the life that you were forced into, but it does _not_ excuse the choices that you continue to make!” she cried, her cheeks reddening. _ _

__Sarevok surged forward, in an instant his hands roughly grabbed her armor and lifted her onto her feet before him. She struggled to grab for a sword, but she had left it on the table._ _

__“Choices?” he roared, “tell me, Harper, of these _choices_!” He leaned his face forward, she could feel his hot breath on her skin. His face was contorted with anger. _ _

__“Unhand me you monster,” she hissed and struggled to loosen herself from his grasp._ _

__“You know nothing of my life, woman, you know nothing of what I have done, what I have been forced to do, to _survive_!” Sarevok bellowed, his hands still latched onto her armor and shirt._ _

__“You are not the only one with a difficult life, Sarevok, _you_ know nothing of what Nessa has suffered, or Imoen, or anyone else in this group for that matter!” Jaheira retorted, and grabbed at Sarevok’s thick wrists. “The poor people of Saradush suffer, and for what? Have you considered those who nearly starved to death when you poisoned the mines at Nashkel? The children murdered by bandits, the slaves who died in Cloakwood?” _ _

__Sarevok had no reply. The glow of his eyes began to flicker, but his hands remained gripped on the front of her._ _

__“Do you know what unnatural experiments Irenicus performed on your sisters? Do you know what tortures they suffered? Khalid...no, I will not speak of him to you…” Jaheira hesitated, her voice wavering. “You know _nothing_ but your own self-pity.”_ _

__“I had no part in this, I was already _dead_ , why do you bore me with these th--” Sarevok began, but was swiftly interrupted by Jaheira. _ _

__“You fool!” she cried, “how do you think Irenicus came to know of Nessa?! You certainly cannot be so stupid as to think that the only threat to the Children was from _other_ Children! You were so blinded by your foolish ambition that you did not realize that those close to you would sell you or your sister to the highest bidder!”_ _

__Sarevok froze. Jaheira’s words pierced him, a cold realization chilled his rage. He had told Rieltar, of course, of Nessa’s true parentage. Certainly he had mentioned it to others as well. Truthfully, he thought he was too powerful to be targeted for his heritage. He had wanted nothing more than to kill Nessa, ever since he fell at Baldur’s Gate, but the thought of her hunted and captured by the mage gnawed at him. It was an unwelcome side effect of their bargain. He had already had odd deja-vus, fleeting visions, foreign sensations of hands and knives that he had never felt or seen before. Nothing coherent, just broken memories._ _

__“You are all the same,” Jaheira murmured, “no matter if you are on the side of darkness or of light, you can see no gray, no balance. Life is not so simple.”_ _

__“I--” Sarevok began, but the words would not come to him. He loosened his grasp on Jaheira and she immediately sprang back out of his reach._ _

__“Do not touch me again,” she hissed. “I will not hesitate to end your wretched life.”_ _

__Sarevok’s offered no resistance. His expression was unreadable, his long arms hung at his sides. They stood there for a few moments, silent. “Jaheira…”_ _

__“What?” Jaheira spat. “Do you expect pity from me, now?”_ _

__Sarevok gazed down at her, his face blank but his mind churning. “Nessa knows about this?”_ _

__“Of course!” Jaheira cried. “Irenicus told her himself, probably to provoke her rage.”_ _

__“Then why...how…”_ _

__“How could she let you walk by her side?” The druid gave a bitter laugh. “Because she is young and trusting, even after everything, still she refuses to let go of her hope.”_ _

__“Hope for what?” Sarevok scoffed. “There is no hope for a Bhaalspawn.”_ _

__“For second chances! For redemption, you fool!” Jaheira spat. “She thinks she can change the prophecy, and she thinks that you can help her do it!”_ _

__Sarevok stood there, silent._ _

__“My loyalty to Nessa is the only thing I have left,” Jaheira said, her blue eyes fixed on his. “My husband is dead, I have no family, I have nothing.”_ _

__Sarevok felt a strange sensation in him, he wanted to laugh at her, he wanted to provoke her, but he couldn’t. There was something unnerving about her directness, her defiance.  
“Khalid and I promised one another to protect Nessa with our lives, he fulfilled his promise.” Sarevok could see pain flash in Jaheira’s eyes. Normally that would please him, he enjoyed the suffering, he liked to watch the pain and the fear as he choked or hacked the life out of someone. But now...something was different. The absence of the divine essence made him feel like he barely knew himself anymore. _ _

__“I propose an agreement with you, druid,” Sarevok replied. Jaheira eyed him suspiciously. “I will keep your secret, but you will give me your word that you will accept both my very existence and my rightful place in this group.”  
“I will make no such agreement!” Jaheira protested. “I won’t stand idly by as you stab Nessa in the back!”_ _

__“Even if I wanted to kill Nessa, I cannot!” Sarevok growled. “Our souls are intertwined now, if she were to die, surely I would die as well.”_ _

__Jaheira’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Of course…,” she whispered as she scanned over his face. “But what of the others? Imoen?”_ _

__Sarevok grunted, his lip curled with disdain. “I would not sacrifice my life to kill that stupid girl.”_ _

__“Fine,” Jaheira said after a moment’s pause. “It is agreed.” She extended a slender hand to him, and he gripped it with a callused hand that dwarfed hers. She was not as small as an elf but she was still petite, and her skin felt soft and warm against his. He suddenly became very aware of her proximity and the flattering cut of her armor. Jaheira gave him a strange look and withdrew her hand. “Do not mistake this for friendship,” she said flatly, “I agree to leave you be, but know that I will _never_ trust you.”_ _

__“Smart woman,” he said, and gave her a chilling half-grin._ _

__She frowned at him and turned to the table behind her. The druid snatched her sword and placed it back in its scabbard. She was relieved to hear him move away from her, when she turned back he was already long strides across the room. He didn’t intimidate her, she had already watched him die twice. But being so close to him, it was unsettling, it was difficult to accept that he could be alive again. She needed to run through the forest, she needed to feel the earth beneath her feet and the the wind in her hair. No more inns, no more Abyss, she missed the stars._ _

__She sunk down in a chair and rubbed the palm where she had held Sarevok’s hand moments ago. He was flesh and blood, his hands were rough and larger than she had realized. She felt a fleeting pang of guilt, what would Khalid think of her now? Striking bargains with the very man they had hunted down only a year or two ago. She let out a loud, long sigh. There were no easy answers, noone to comfort her._ _

__Jaheira was accustomed to taking care of herself, she had been on her own for years. She couldn’t stay in the grove forever, she left as soon as she could to find her own path. What good would hiding in the forest do? She couldn’t sit by and watch civilization’s filth spill into the wilderness, she had to oppose the domination of men like Sarevok who raped nature for their own profit._ _

__She leaned her head back against her chair and closed her eyes, her mind lost in memories._ _

__\------------------_ _

__Sarevok walked back towards his bedroll. He caught a glimpse of a shadow out of the corner of his eye and paused when he realized it was Nessa. She was dressed in a simple shift dress, her pale legs were bare and the dress only came down to her mid-thigh. He let his eyes linger too long on her thighs, he couldn’t help it, they were covered in a web of pale lines. When looked back up at her face she looked displeased._ _

__“Brothers shouldn’t look at their sister like that, Sarevok,” she said. Her tone was joking, but her face was serious._ _

__“Irenicus?” he asked. His expression was inscrutable, but she felt uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze._ _

__She nodded and tugged at the bottom of her dress. “We all have our scars.”_ _

__“Indeed,” Sarevok agreed._ _

__“Speaking of scars, I need to ask you something,” Nessa began, but she hesitated. Her green eyes were hooded with shadows, her black hair framed her face and gave an ethereal look to her._ _

__“I know about the Harpers,” she said._ _

__Sarevok stiffened. “What about them?”_ _

__“No...I _know_ about them, about you, about that night,” Nessa pressed. She could sense tension building between them._ _

__“How…,” Sarevok began, but Nessa interrupted him. “The Solar showed me,” she said, “actually, you told me about it yourself. Well, a younger version.” She shifted uncomfortably and ran a slender hand over her thick braid of hair.  
Sarevok felt a flicker of anger. It was already difficult to be at Nessa’s mercy, but now? His suffering was a tool to develop Nessa’s powers. He felt his hand flinch involuntarily, he wanted nothing more than to snap her neck. How dare she violate his privacy. _ _

__“I’m sorry, it’s not exactly information I wanted to know either,” Nessa offered. “I never liked the Harpers, but killing kids? That’s just...beyond.”_ _

__“Save your apologies, what do you want to know,” Sarevok growled. She could see his muscles tensing under the thin cloth of his tunic. She should have put more clothes on, and grabbed a sword, she was just trying to find Jaheira and hadn’t anticipated running into Sarevok._ _

__She paused for a few moments and considered how to ask for the information she wanted. Sarevok was growing visibly irritated by her hesitation. Before she could stop herself, she blurted it out. “Was Jaheira there?”_ _

__Sarevok did not flinch. His eyes met hers, but she couldn’t even guess what he was thinking. “No,” he said, his amber eyes unblinking._ _

__“Are you sure?” Nessa pressed._ _

__Sarevok’s fists cracked. “I have given you my answer. If you do not trust me, ask the woman yourself.” Before she could reply, he strode away from her._ _

__Relief washed over her. She wasn’t going to ask Jaheira, she was going to forget about the whole thing entirely. The had to face another challenge, and she had a sense of foreboding about what was waiting for them._ _

__She retraced her steps back to her bedroll, back to Haer’Dalis, and fell into a restless sleep full of nightmares._ _

__

__\-----------------_ _


	5. Allies

I'm stuck at home buried in snow, was a nice opportunity to finish this chapter up. I've finally finished a full outline for my story, there will be this main ToB part and then a side story and a post-ToB story. It's changed from what I had in mind initially, but I'm really excited to write the side story that was my motivation for writing this whole thing. Thanks for reading!

\------------------------------

The group was well fed and prepared for whatever challenge awaited them. Nessa gave them an encouraging smile and motioned to a dark, foreboding pit in the southern corner of the cavern. There was a staircase that appeared to be veiled in a pool darkness, but as Nessa approached the murkiness cleared. 

She lead the group down, Keldorn was by her side and she could feel Haer’Dalis behind her. Jaheira and Imoen followed after them, while Sarevok and Valygar brought up the rear.

There was a slender elven woman waiting for them, her pointed ears poked through a curtain of jet black hair. Her skin was as white as chalk, even her lips were so pale they looked almost blue. There were strange tattoos on her forehead and cheeks, similar to Sarevok’s. Her eyes were cast down at the ground, she was clad in dark gray robes that accentuated her ghostly pallor. Her lips moved in a rhythmic pattern, Nessa thought she could hear a low chant coming from her. The woman was beautiful, in a terrible way, she looked like some kind of evil twin. 

Nessa heard a small gasp from Imoen. She turned quick to look at her sister.

“Nessa…” Imoen said, her blue eyes locked on the figure before them. “It...it’s you!” 

The woman’s eyes snapped up. They were an emerald green, their vibrancy shone even in the darkness of the room. A sinister grin crept across her thin lips. 

“I am Nessa of Candlekeep and I cannot be stopped,” she said. She threw her hands out to both sides and a group of figures began to materialize. Nessa could hear the others unsheath their weapons, she and Imoen immediately cast a spell of stoneskin. 

The dark Nessa kept one of her hands held outwards towards the figure that appeared to her left. A small woman stepped forward, her face obscured in a black hood. She slipped a small gloved hand into Nessa’s and pulled back her hood with the other. Thick, black hair spilled out, the dim light revealed a human face with sharp, almond-shaped eyes. _Tamoko._

Sarevok felt his breath sucked from his chest. Even if it was merely an apparition, he had not seen Tamoko in years. She haunted his dreams, memories of her had assaulted him while he rotted in the Abyss. He was not prepared to see her again, not like this. 

The woman stepped up next to the dark Nessa, who turned to her and nodded approvingly. 

Two other well-armed men appeared. Nessa couldn’t remember their names but one was the man who took over the flaming fist, and the other was a mage lackey that was with Sarevok in his final moments. 

The dark Nessa scanned her eyes over the other group. She had the same intensity to her gaze as Sarevok, it burned as it passed over her opponents. Her eyes came to rest on Sarevok. “Brother,” she hissed, “I have been looking for you.” She caught a glimpse of Imoen standing behind a tall paladin. “Sister, you too?” She gave a chilling laugh. “A family reunion, what fun.”

The groups stood in silence, the only sounds were slow breaths and Valygar’s longbow straining as he pulled back on the bowstring. 

“Have you ever considered facial tattoos, my raven?” Haer’Dalis whispered from behind Nessa, “I must admit I am partial to them, myself.” She stifled a laugh. The dark Nessa’s face fell into a scowl. 

“Destroy them,” she commanded. 

The two Nessas lunged towards one another, each swiftly withdrawing twin blades from scabbards obscured by their robes. Valygar let an arrow fly and it whizzed past Nessa and sunk into the male mage’s shoulder. He gave a sharp cry, the arrow had interrupted his spell incantations. 

Jaheira and Tamoko were both casting protections spells, Haer’Dalis raced forward to attack the warrior. A spell flew past him and the enemy mage erupted in a ball of flames. 

“Sorry!” Imoen cried.

Haer’Dalis leapt through the air and spun, his sword sliced into the gap between the warrior’s helmet and chest plate. The man tried to knock the tiefling back with his mace, but Haer’Dalis ducked under his arm and sliced up into the gap at the armpit. The man howled in pain. 

Sarevok lurched towards Tamoko. She was small, one hit would easily be enough to kill her. As he approached her she stopped her chanting and turned her heart-shaped face up towards him. Her eyes crackled with a spark of recognition. 

_Impossible…_ Sarevok thought to himself, and lifted his sword up to bring it crashing down on her. 

“I have waited many years for this,” she said softly, her thick Kara-Turan accent was just as he remembered it. 

He hesitated. His sword hung in the air, he was momentarily hypnotized by her dark eyes. His arms dropped. Her full mouth twisted into a satisfied smirk. 

Nessa ran her sword through her twin and as she turned to slash the other blade across her chest she could see Tamoko’s cruel grin. “No!” she cried, but before she could even shoot a magic missile at the cleric it was too late. The magic burned into the woman’s face and neck but the spell was already cast. Slay living. Nessa recognized the dark fire that enveloped Tamoko’s hand. 

Nessa had read about deathstalkers, many years ago while she was still in Candlekeep. A young man had stayed at the library for a few months and the monks wanted her to assist him with his research. He was a wealthy noble from a neighboring land, an arrogant prick who obviously had never met an elf before. He must have been studying to be some kind of cleric because he extensively researched numerous pantheons and clerical orders. Bhaal’s most faithful were gifted with a number of assasin-like talents, but one of their more useful abilities was casting touch-based necromantic spells from a distance. 

Nessa shot off another spell that struck the cleric and there was a loud thud as Valygar’s arrow ripped through Tamoko’s armor into her chest.

Sarevok was momentarily dazed as pain surged through him. He gritted his teeth and clenched his sword in his fist. “I’m not that easy to kill, bitch,” he growled. A long arm whipped forward and an armored hand wrapped around her throat. Sarevok lifted Tamoko off of her feet, blood was oozing from her wounds and a stream trickled out of her mouth onto his hand. 

“Finish it,” she hissed and spat a mouthful of blood in his face. Sarevok’s grip on her throat tightened. “I should have killed you myself,” he said and threw down his sword. 

“Sarevok,” Nessa protested as he grabbed the cleric’s neck with his other hand.

An arrow whizzed over Sarevok’s shoulder and buried itself in Tamoko’s left eye socket. The cleric’s head rolled forward and her body went limp in his hands. 

“Damn it!” he roared and flung her body down on the ground. He spun around to face Valygar. 

“She was mine to kill!” 

The ranger’s face was unreadable. He returned his bow to his back and shook his head at the warrior. 

Imoen curled her lip in disgust. “You know Sarevok,” she said, “everytime I think I’m crazy, you remind me of just how normal I am.” 

Sarevok gave her a poisonous glare. He turned back to grab his sword and staggered a bit as he tried to take a step. Her magic was powerful, it had very nearly killed him. The cleric’s body slowly vanished, within moments there was only empty ground. 

“‘Twas merely an illusion, my friend,” a gentle voice said from beside him. He turned to see the bard offering him his sword. “You must grow accustomed to these things, Nessa’s lessons are often quite...visceral.”  
“If I want your advice, I will ask for it, bard,” Sarevok spat and ripped his sword from Haer’Dalis’ hands. The tiefling gave a short laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “As you wish, my hound.”

Jaheira stepped towards Sarevok and put her scimitar back in its scabbard. “You require healing.”

“Bah,” Sarevok huffed. “Attend to the others.”

“The others do not _require_ healing,” Jaheira replied. “We learned even as small children to not allow our passions to overpower our sensibilities.” Her mouth was set in a thin line of disapproval.

“How dare you..,” Sarevok began, but the druid dismissed him with a wave of her hand. 

“Enough, let me do as I must.” She avoided his gaze as she cast her healing spells, and stepped away from him as soon as she finished. 

She healed his body, but her spells did nothing to heal his wounded pride. 

\---------------------

The group was transported from the pocket plane to a sprawling desert. There was sand as far as the eye could see, punctuated with gray rocky outcroppings that jutted into the horizon. 

“Great, right in the middle of the desert,” Nessa grumbled to herself. The others looked similarly displeased, the sun was beating down on them and heat radiated off of the sand. 

There was a rough path that lead to the west and they decided to follow it. They didn’t know where Amkethran was, other than that it laid to the west of a vast desert. Nessa didn’t think that they would get plopped down _in_ it, she had hoped they would get transported directly to Amkethran.

After a few hours of trudging through endless dunes Nessa caught sight of a patch of green in the distance. 

“Can anyone else see that?” she asked. Her voice croaked, her throat was dry and her lips stuck to her gums. The others stopped and squinted at the western horizon. 

“Aye,” Valygar replied, “I see it.”

“Is it an oasis or something?” Nessa asked, and held a hand over her eyes to shield them from the blinding sun.

“More like a mirage,” Imoen muttered. She was covered in sweat and was pulling her robes away from her chest so that she could fan herself with an unrolled scroll.

“Mirage or not, we may as well investigate,” Keldorn said. The paladin look unfazed by the heat, but Nessa couldn’t imagine that full plate mail could be comfortable in such a climate. She was surprised Sarevok and Keldorn hadn’t passed out yet. Even Haer’Dalis looked like a wilted flower, his damp blue-gray hair was stuck to his face. Rivulets of sweat poured down his neck, but his expression was as content as ever. He gave her a curious look, but she merely smiled back at him.

Within another hour the green was rapidly growing and they were certainly drawing near to some kind of oasis. There were palm trees and shrubby grasses, even a reptile or two scurried past their dusty feet. 

“Heads up, we’ve got company,” Valygar warned. He was right, as they came around a bend Nessa could see a group of wagons surrounded by soldiers. She heard shouting as they caught sight of her and her companions. 

“That doesn’t sound like friendly yelling,” Imoen said, her voice nervous. The soldiers began to grab at their weapons and jump to their feet. “Ok really, really not friendly.”

“These men are soldiers of Tethyr,” Keldorn interrupted. The paladin stepped forward in front of Nessa. “They bear the insignia of the royal army.”

“Is that a good thing?” Nessa replied, her dark brows knit with concern. She glanced over at Sarevok, his eyes were fixed on the swarm of soldiers. It looked like a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He was surely thinking the same thing as her. Her blood thrummed with power, she could hear it pulsating in her ears. Dark whispers probed the edge of her mind, their greedy fingers searching for any weakness, any vulnerability. She wanted to pass through, give a friendly wave, maybe have a nice chat and get a refill for their waterskins, but she had been through enough to know better. 

“Of course!” Keldorn scoffed. “Why, that priest bears the symbol of Lathandar. I am glad to find a regufe in the midst of this god-forsaken desert.” He walked ahead of his companions towards a small group of men who appeared to be dressed in more ornate armor than the others. A tall, dark-haired man stepped forward with one hand holding his helm and his other cautiously hovering over his sheathed sword.

“Hail, comrades, ‘tis good to find allies in even the most remote of waterholes,” Keldorn said. He went to extend a hand to the man, but as he came closer he could see his full insignia. 

“General,” he said, and immediately bowed his head in respect. “I am Sir Keldorn Firecam, of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart in Athkatla.”

“I am aware, paladin,” the man interrupted. His face was decidedly unfriendly. He was young, for a general, but had the deep lines and marks of a human male who had lived a hard life. Nessa stayed back and hesitated to approach the men. She didn’t trust the looks that they were giving her.

Keldorn withdrew his hand slowly and looked at the men flanking the general. “I’m not sure I understand…”

“You need not understand. You will be punished for your crimes, and you Sir Keldorn will be judged as harshly as the miscreants you have chosen to accompany,” the general said. He waved a hand at his men. “Arrest them.”

“Crimes?” Keldorn barked. “What is the meaning of this? There is some trickery afoot here, we have just delivered one of your cities from a month-long siege, as well as a tyrannical half-orc, at no small cost to our group…”

“I see the rumors are correct, you have clearly lost your mind,” the general interrupted again. Keldorn was visibly irritated at this point, he rarely suffered such disrespect. 

“I am sure we can work this out,” Nessa said. She stepped forward cautiously and gave the group of men a guarded look. “What are the charges you bring against us?”

“Silence, abomination! I will not speak to one of your cursed kind, you have brought naught but ruin to Tethyr!” the general spat. His face was flushed with anger. A group of soldiers ran forward with irons. “Lock them up!” the general cried, “and be careful with the large one and the elf, they must be restrained doubly well!”

“Hey what about me!” Imoen protested. “Noone is ever afraid of Imoen, oh no, just Sarevok and Nessa, you know I _killed_ Sarevok, right? I’m scary too…” 

“This may not be the proper audience for such expositions, my lark,” Haer’Dalis murmured. He was eyeing the soldiers, not with any trepidation but instead a mild curiosity. Their group was vastly outnumbered but that made the situation all the more exciting. 

Jaheira stormed forward to the general. “I am a citizen of Tethyr, I know well its laws, you must bring forward charges, you have not even informed us of your name and rank!”

The general gave her a scornful glare. “Of course, you must be Jaheira Ralorel, I did not realize you were a half-breed as well as a traitor to Tethyr,” he said. Jaheira bristled at his words but said nothing. She held his gaze in defiance for a few moments, then turned to shoot a venomous stare at the soldiers who approached her. 

“I am General Jamis Tombelthen of the Tethyrian Army, I formally charge Nessa of Candlekeep and her companions with the sacking of Saradush, treason against the high crown of Tethyr, and the slaughter of thousands of innocent civilians,” he said in the flat, monotone voice of a military man.

“What?!” Nessa cried. “Sacking? We just saved Saradush from Yaga-Shura, he was the one doing the sacking!” 

Keldorn nodded. “Aye, ‘tis true General, we delivered your city from the curse of the fire giant and his army, surely there is some mistake.”

“There is no such mistake, Nessa is a Bhaalspawn and will be executed as such, under orders of the King and Queen of Tethyr!” The general motioned for the men to apprehend them. “Your protests are useless, accept your fate or else we will be forced to execute all of you.”

“Execute??” Imoen protested. “This can’t be happening, Nessa hasn’t done anything wrong!”

Nessa glanced back at her sister and shook her head. She gave her a look, hoping that her sister would take the hint and stop talking.

“I’m not going to let you kill me,” Nessa said as she turned back to the general. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, just let us through and we’ll be on our way.” She fixed her bright green eyes on the general. A soldier approached her and tried to grab one of her arms but she wrestled it out of his grasp. She could hear the others scramble for their weapons. “Wait!” she yelled and held up her hand. 

“Let us pass, please,” she said, “you don’t have to do this.”

“On the contrary, filth, I do,” the general snarled. 

“ **Attack! >**” 

Nessa felt her stomach sink. The bloodlust that had been simmering roiled into a furious maelstrom of wrath. There was a clashing of blades, volleys of arrows, and a terrible rain of fire and acidic clouds from her and Imoen’s magic. When Nessa caught a glance at her sister, she was disturbed by what she saw. Imoen’s face was pale and drawn, her thinness accentuated by the dark circles underneath her eyes. But her body was emanating an aura of dark power that was palpable from yards away. 

There were corpses littered everywhere, Valygar’s arrows chased down the last of the stragglers who didn’t manage to run away in the chaos of battle. 

Keldorn leaned against the side of a caravan and wiped the sweat from his scarred brows. He stared off into the distance and reached into his plate mail to search for the holy symbol he wore around his neck. “Torm guide my hand,” he murmured to himself. “May the gods forgive us.”

Some of the color had returned to Imoen’s face but the haunted look remained. Sarevok seemed strangely happy, his armor was sprayed with blood but he didn’t appear to notice. Nessa glanced between them and the others. Valygar’s eyes were cast downwards, he cleaned his sword but said nothing. Jaheira was similarly silent, she rummaged through her bags for extra healing potions even though everyone was healed well enough. Haer’Dalis looked both perplexed and as if he was trying to keep himself from laughing. 

“Keldorn,” she said as she approached the paladin and placed a hand on his shoulder. She couldn’t help but notice that he flinched at her touch. 

“Yes?” he replied, but did not move or turn to look at her. His was raw and full of barely contained emotion.

“Go home.”

\---------------------------------

“Well that was...weird,” Imoen said. The group was weaving their way through Amkethran, they had just met with the local leader, Balthazar. The monk was grave but cordial, their presence was clearly barely tolerated. The people of the city were visibly hungry, the poorest of them had rags that barely clung to bony frames. Even the wealthier citizens avoided making eye contact with their group, they put their heads down and hurried about their business. There was an cloud of desperation that hung in the hot, dry air. 

“Is he one of the Five?” Imoen asked. The mage slicked back her damp hair and made a face as she shook sweat off of her fingers. “Did I mention it’s hotter than hell here?”

“Depends on the hell, my lark,” Haer’Dalis quipped. Imoen rolled her eyes and kept walking. 

It had been a long day, a very long day. They had trudged through the desert only to be met by a small army. Nessa shivered when she thought of it, she didn’t want to fight them, they forced her hand. _They forced her hand._ Now they were headed for the nearest inn and Nessa couldn’t wait to get some food, a nice big flagon of ale and a hot bath. Then everyone could rest a bit and clear their heads before deciding whether to pursue Sendai or Abazigal first. She was glad to be spending the evening outside of her pocket plane, it was convenient but she much preferred sleeping in a regular inn, or even out under the stars. 

She had asked Keldorn to leave and at first he had argued with her. He didn’t like taking orders, but eventually she convinced him that it was in his best interest and the group’s as well. He was the only one with a family, the only one with someone to go home to, he had a wife and children to think about. His station in the Order could be threatened if he didn’t go back to Athkatla to clarify what had happened with the Tethyrian army. Nessa had asked him to take care of himself and his family first, and then, if he could do it without endangering his own career, to try to vouch for herself and the others. 

_Don’t stray from the path of righteousness, my dear Nessa,_ he had said and reached forward to clasp her hands within his. Nessa smiled at him and nodded, but in her heart she knew that was a promise she couldn’t make. She was going to do whatever it took to see this thing through to the end, to end it. Keldorn didn’t need to be collateral damage. She had sent him to Watcher’s Keep via the pocket plane, she knew that he could find safe travel back to Athkatla through the Helmites there. 

They approached the inn, but the appearance of it was underwhelming at best. All of the buildings in Amkethran were made of some sort of clay or stucco. They were a pale gray set in a landscape of oranges, red, and more grays. There were a few animals skins patched together to create a makeshift door for the entrance. The holes that served as windows were uncovered, surely because of the exceedingly hot and dry climate. The sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon and the air was beginning to cool. Nessa had never been in a desert before and she didn’t think she would ever return to one willingly.

The group was met with stares and whispers as they entered the dusty tavern. A barmaid eyed them suspiciously and the bartender gave them a sidelong glance and continued wiping down the counter. There were only a few patrons, the bulk of which appeared to be mercenaries. 

“Wow, there are mercenaries everywhere,” Imoen whispered. “Kinda strange for a monastery town, dontcha think?”

“He prepares himself for war,” Sarevok replied. He stood just inside of the entrance and surveyed the tavern carefully. He anticipated an ambush, or if nothing else trouble from the mercenaries. 

Nessa strode forward and unslung her pack from her back and threw it on top of a large table. She waved at the barmaid and beckoned the others to join her. 

“No use worrying about it now, I don’t know about you guys but I’m ready for a break.” She sighed and rolled her shoulders to try to loosen her stiff muscles.

The barmaid approached the table and Nessa grabbed a handful of coins out of a pouch at her waist. “Drinks are on me, everyone.” 

Jaheira walked over to the bartender. “Do you have double rooms?” she asked. The bartender nodded but said nothing. “3 rooms then, and access to bathing facilities.”

“That’ll be 10 gold,” the man grumbled. He gave Jaheira a probing glance and paused. He reached under the bar and grabbed a piece of paper that he then slid across the counter towards her. She eyed it suspiciously and looked over her shoulder to make sure the others hadn’t noticed. “What is this?” she whispered. 

“A message for you, from a friend,” he said and shrugged. “Said to give it to a half-elf, you fit the description, I don’t know nothing else about it.”

Jaheira quickly flicked the paper open. _Third house on the right, upper level. Meet after dark. Bernard._ She gritted her teeth and crumpled the paper in her hand. The Harpers, of course. It had been a month since their last contact with her, communication had slowed recently and frankly, she hadn’t missed it. But Bernard? He was the last person she wanted to talk to right now, what was he doing in Tethyr anyways? Harpers usually operated in regions and Amkethran was quite a distance from Athkatla. 

Nessa leaned back in her chair and took a few swigs of the cool ale. The inn was rustic, but there was a certain charm to the rough-hewn logs that spanned the ceilings and formed the heavy tables that were scattered around the dusty room. It was nice to be back in a city of some kind, but Amkethran had none of the hustle and bustle of a normal town. Its citizens were hushed and hurried about their business.

She didn’t want to think about what had transpired that day. She didn’t want to think about how Imoen was changing, how much she herself avoided her own reflection. It was inevitable, as the remaining Bhaalspawn were destroyed she and Imoen would grow in power. If she said she didn’t like it, she would be lying, there was a part of her that fed off of the destruction. She had to get rid of the taint, time was running out. A Child of Murder couldn’t kill this many people and not have it affect them, it didn’t matter if the deaths were justified or out of self-defense. A death was a death, as far as her blood was concerned. 

But tonight...tonight she would enjoy herself. No more worries, no more doubts. The prophecy could wait until tomorrow. 

She grabbed her ale and chugged it down, then slammed it on the table and waved at the barmaid. “Another round!” she cried.

“Someone’s getting carried to their room tonight,” Imoen whispered to Valygar. The ranger gave a soft chuckle.

“Sis, get some food first, you’re a lightweight,” Imoen said. She grabbed the mug of ale from the barmaid before Nessa could get it. 

“Hey, quit it!” Nessa protested. “Imoen! Give it back!”

“No.” 

“Yes!”

“You quit it or I’ll tell everyone about the first time you got drunk.” Imoen arched one of her eyebrows and slid the ale over to Valygar. 

Nessa gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Children,” Jaheira interrupted. “This is not the time for such petty arguments.”

“We’re not petty!” both of the sister protested in unison. They looked at each other and erupted in peals of laughters. It felt good, to laugh like that with each other. It didn’t happen nearly enough these days.  
Jaheira gave a loud, disapproving sigh. “I have no idea how I have managed to stay with you girls this long, Gorion should have been more stern in his discipline.”

“He always let Nessa get away with murder, she was his favorite.” Imoen took a swig from her mug and leaned back in her chair. 

“What! You got to sneak around and Gorion left you alone, I was stuck in that damn library all day, every day!” Nessa’s arcane skills concerned Gorion and he left her to the mercy of the monks. They kept her busy doing research and assisting with cataloguing the library. When she managed to sneak out of the library she would get flagged down by Hull or Fuller for sword training. 

“Left me alone? More like ignored me,” Imoen huffed. “I wasn’t the mysterious, exotic elf girl that everyone was infatuated with.”

“Oh yeah, being ‘exotic’ is _great_ when you’re in a library fortress with nothing but male monks and male guards.” Nessa scowled. “ _Humans_ , at that.” It was true, Nessa received far more attention from human men than from elves. By elven standards she was rather plain looking, or at least that was how it seemed. She didn’t know much about elven society except what she had read in books, but the elven women she had encountered in her travels were stunningly beautiful. The men, too. 

Imoen grinned at her sister. “That’s fair, you know this one time I caught one of the monks watching you while you were bent over to pick up some scrolls of the ground, I tapped him on the shoulder and he spun around so fast...his face was beet red!”

“Ugh,” Nessa said, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Celibacy is not healthy.”

“‘Tis a strange practice indeed,” Haer’Dalis interjected. The tiefling had been leaned back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, he had a bemused expression as he listened to the girls’ banter.

Imoen turned to the bard. “I guess you’d know better than anyone about being exotic, huh?” 

“Of course, my lark,” Haer’Dalis replied, “but unlike your sister, I do not hesitate to use it to my advantage.”

Imoen rolled her eyes. “Isn’t _that_ the truth.” She turned to Sarevok, who had been sitting at the end of the table, his lips turned down in a dark scowl. 

“How about you, Sarevok? How’d the glowy eyes and the tattoos work out for you? Ever have any unwelcome attention?”

Sarevok let out a contemptuous snort. “Any unwelcome attention was dealt with, swiftly.” He took a long drink from his mug. “Besides, my mentor used illusions to mask my true appearance, I was aware of the effect it had on weaklings like yourself.”

“Or, you know, children,” Imoen retorted. “Which version did your girlfriends like better, the cleaned up Sarevok or the evil one?” She gave him a pointed stare. The warrior said nothing in reply, but his hand curled into a fist and she could see his jaw was clenched. 

“When did you get the tattoos, anyways?” Nessa asked. She leaned forward and rested her chin in the palms of her hands. Sarevok couldn’t help but notice the dark tendrils of hair that slipped out of her braid and framed her pale face. 

“When I was a teenager, maybe 17 years old,” he replied. She was surprised that he answered her question, and by the curious looks on the others’ faces, she wasn’t the only one.

“It was part of my training, the tattoos served as both a method of intimidation and a conduit for certains magics,” Sarevok continued. He took another drink from his mug and looked down at the table. “They are useless, now.”

“How about the glowy eyes?” Imoen pressed. “Is that a deathbringer thing or a Bhaalspawn thing? I mean, Nessa and I…” Imoen let her voice trail off, Sarevok’s expression was growing angry.

“Why do you pester me, girl?” he growled. “I have no control over my eyes, if you must know, I assumed they were a product of my divine heritage but I cannot explain why they glow still.” 

“Weird,” Imoen murmured. “They look pretty cool, you know, in a scary kind of a way.”

“I’m aware,” Sarevok drawled. 

The conversation was interrupted by the barmaid, who was bearing large platters of food. “We don’t have any meat,” she said as she threw the plates down on the table. “Things are too tight with how Balthazar’s been squeezing us, but we scrounged together what we could.” 

Nessa looked at the heaping plates of rice, lentils and flatbreads. Her mouth began to water, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. They dug into their food in silence, and after a while they were all lounging in their seats, their bellies full and mugs empty. Even Sarevok had eaten his fill, Nessa was glad to see that he was finally beginning to eat as much as she would expect. The whole group was thinner than when they first began their journey, their adventures in Amn were difficult but she could have never imagined that they would eventually be facing off against small armies. 

“I have some business to attend to,” Jaheira announced and abruptly stood up out of her seat. She stacked her dishes and pushed them to the center of the table. 

“Business?” Nessa questioned.

“It has been too long beneath roofs, I require some time with nature so that I may refresh my mind and prepare for what lies before us.” Nessa believed her, but there was an odd tone to Jaheira’s voice. She also noticed that Sarevok was giving the druid a suspicious look. 

“I will return by morning, do not concern yourselves,” Jaheira added. She grabbed her pack, hoisted it onto her shoulders and set out of the tavern.

When the druid had exited through the animal-skin draped doorway, Sarevok turned to Nessa. 

“You do not question this?” he demanded.

“Question what? Jaheira is a grown woman, she is free to come and go as she pleases.” She wiped a bit of foam from her ale off of her lips with the back of her sleeve. 

“Jaheira’s always like that, prolly Harper stuff,” Imoen added. “She tries to pretend it isn’t but come on, like we can’t figure it out.”

“You are not concerned that the Harpers may be monitoring your movements?” Sarevok said, his voice full of disdain. “Surely you are not so foolish as to think they consider you an ally.”

Nessa shrugged. “Until they cause problems for me, I’m not going to worry about it.”

Sarevok shook his head at her. “I thought you wiser than that, Nessa, you must realize others will not be as generous.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “It was only a half-day ago that the kingdom of Tethyr condemned you to death on false charges, I don’t understand…”

“And they’re dead now,” Nessa interrupted. Her green eyes peered at him from over the rim of her large mug. “Like I said, I’m not worried about it, and you shouldn’t be either.” 

“Hpmh,” Sarevok grunted. “It is a wonder you are still alive.”

“Maybe that’s the difference between us,” Nessa said, her eyes still fixed on him. “I’m not afraid of dying.”

Sarevok laughed. “Easily said by one who has not yet experienced the fires of the Abyss.”

Valygar and Imoen traded glances, and Haer’Dalis reached over to place a hand on Nessa’s shoulder.

“Not all of us choose a path that ends in eternal torment, you know,” Nessa retorted sharply. She felt Haer’Dalis’ hand on her shoulder but she couldn’t let the argument with Sarevok go. How dare he question her trust of Jaheira, what was he trying to do? 

Sarevok’s eyes widened, her words stung him. “How dare you…”

“No Sarevok, how dare _you_ question my leadership, you are a free man,” Nessa interrupted. “I’d like to remind you that _you_ asked to join _me_ , don’t act like I dragged you along against your will!” 

Sarevok opened his mouth to reply but his words escaped him. She was right, he had asked to travel with her group, she had demanded nothing of him in return. No promises, nothing. It should be no surprise that she would give the same freedom to the others. 

“Fine,” Sarevok grumbled. “But do not be surprised when your trust gets you or your friends killed.”

“How about some music?” Haer’Dalis interrupted. The bard stood up and glanced around the room, much to his chagrin there was not any sign of entertainment to be had in the dreary tavern. He dug a small flute out of his pack and pulled a chair out to a cleared area near an empty corner of the room. 

Imoen clapped her hands excitedly. The other patrons gave Haer’Dalis odd glances and scowled as the bard quietly adjusted his instrument. Nessa had grown accustomed to the wide variety of entertainment available at the taverns they traveled to throughout Amn, many a coin had been spent and many more a mug of ale emptied. Keldorn didn’t approve of too much dancing or drinking, so she’d kept a lid on it since he had joined the group. Now he was gone, and Jaheira would be gone for at least a few hours, so she could finally let her hair down. It was unfortunate that the tavern couldn’t possibly be more drab and depressing, but she would make do.

Imoen loved music as well, the two girls had grown up singing little songs and practicing dances with one another. There wasn’t much else to do in Candlekeep. 

The bard sat down in the chair and began playing a lively tune. He tapped the heel of his boot to the beat of the song, and Imoen and Nessa clapped their hands in time as well. After a few minutes Nessa stood up and moved towards the open floor in front of Haer’Dalis. She beckoned for her sister to join her, and soon the two of them were circling around one another, elbows intertwined, their feet moving in steps they had learned from some traveling Lliiran priestesses. If anyone knew how to brighten a dark day, it was those four women. They were beautiful, graceful, and their laughter was infectious. 

Everyone in the tavern was watching them, but Nessa didn’t care. It felt so good to be in that moment, to let her cares go and enjoy being alive. Haer’Dalis’ eyes were closed as he played, but Nessa kept stealing glances at him while she she danced. These were the moments she enjoyed most, with him, they made her feel almost _normal_. They made her feel like maybe there was a future for her, for Imoen, even for her and Haer’Dalis’ relationship. 

A tap on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts. A couple of the mercenaries were standing nearby, one of them had stepped forward to stop her.

“Ah, miss, I uhm--” he stuttered, “I don’t mean to interrupt but this place has been awful boring, and we, well we were hoping maybe we could join the two of you?” He was a younger man, average height and build. He wasn’t handsome, but Nessa had to give him credit for being brave enough to ask an elf for a dance. The other man was a bit older and was probably of a higher rank. He didn’t say anything, but smiled broadly at Imoen.

“Why not,” Nessa replied and reached her hand out to the mercenary. She gave him a grin and pulled him onto their makeshift dance floor. 

The two men were surprisingly good dancers, and the girls enjoyed keeping up with their steps. As they danced they learned than the men were from Riatavin, a city that was once part of Amn but now belonged to Tethyr. The girls didn’t offer much information about themselves, but the men didn’t seem to mind doing most of the talking.

Before long another pair of mercenaries stepped up, these men carried small instruments. “We ducked back to camp and grabbed them, heard that there was some music being played, would be a welcome break from this desert hellhole,” a tall mercenary said. He had a fiddle in his hands, and another man had a lute. Haer’Dalis nodded approvingly and paused his playing long enough for them to tune their strings to his flute. While they were tuning the bard caught Nessa’s eye, he cocked an eyebrow at the mercenary who was holding her hand. Knowing that Haer’Dalis was watching, she stepped up on her toes and brushed a quick kiss on the young man’s cheek. He turned a bright shade of red, and Nessa giggled at his embarrassment. 

“A moment, my good men,” Haer’Dalis said and gracefully walked over to Nessa and her companion. The mercenary gave him a challenging look at first, but as the tiefling drew near to him he began to lose some of his nerve. 

“May I?” the bard asked, and offered his hand to Nessa.

“Wait a minute, she’s my partner,” the mercenary protested. 

“You sully my lovely raven’s honor with such presumptuousness,” Haer’Dalis replied, his expression scornful. “I address the lady, not her _inadequate_ company.”

“Really, Haer’Dalis, honor?” Nessa groaned. “I didn’t even know I had any.” She shook her head at him, and he gave her a sly wink. 

The mercenary shifted uncomfortably from side to side. “I--uh---well,” he stammered. He had gotten together enough nerve to ask the elf for a dance, but the bard had something strange about him. It made his skin prickle.

“Come on!” Imoen cried out, “quit being jealous and get back to the bard-ing.” 

“Jealous!” Haer’Dalis protested. “What insults, your sister’s tongue grows ever sharper with each passing day,” he said as he leaned forward towards Nessa, “but I shall see what skills these men have, mayhaps I may learn a new song or two.” He reached and grabbed Nessa’s hand, then lifted it towards his lips to press a hot kiss on her soft, pale skin. The bard gave the mercenary an impish smile, then released Nessa’s hand and swiftly returned to his chair. 

Within moments the music started again, and before long more dancers were joining them on the floor. 

Sarevok had retired briefly to his room to change out of his plate armor and clean himself up. He had been sweating like a pig, he despised deserts and their unyielding heat. He strapped on some leather armor that he had in his pack, he still did not trust that they were safe in Amkethran. Balthazar seemed concerned with their presence.

He glanced around the room and realized that there were two beds. Impossible, certainly they didn’t expect him to _share_ a room? He muttered curses under his breath, this was the druid’s doing, he was certain of it. 

A little while later he was again seated at the table with Valygar, who obviously hadn’t bothered to clean himself up. The ranger was sipping on an ale and had a faint smile on his face. He was watching Nessa and Imoen dance with the various tavern patrons and mercenaries. It pleased him to see them happy, they were so young, they didn’t deserve the darkness that had been forced upon them. 

“Surely you can’t approve of this kind of behavior?” Sarevok interrupted. “We are hunting down the most powerful of the Bhaalspawn, we have no time to waste on frivolity.” 

Valygar shrugged and took another sip of his ale. “I’ve seen what they’ve been through, I’m glad they’ve got any “frivolity” left in them,” he said quietly. 

“Oh? Why don’t you join them then, _ranger_?” 

“Me?” Valygar replied, an eyebrow arched in surprise. “I’m far too old and bitter for that.”

“Or maybe you just aren’t a stupid little girl,” the warrior snarled. He watched Nessa swing from one mercenary’s arms to another. The bard glanced up every now and again and Sarevok could see him smile as he continued to play along with the other two men. _Fools._

“I thought the same thing, you know.” Valygar’s gravelly voice interrupted Sarevok’s thoughts. He glanced over at the ranger. The man’s skin was a light brown, similar to his own, and his black hair was styled in thin braids that ran along his scalp. 

“Meaning?”

“When I first met Nessa I thought she was immature, naive.” He paused and took another sip of his drink. “I figured the world was going to chew her up and spit her back out. But you know what? It didn’t, and it still hasn’t.”

Sarevok snorted. “There is still time.”

“Aye,” Valygar nodded. “That’s true. Still, I realized after a while that she isn’t naive, she _chooses_ to give people a chance, she’s aware of the risk and she’s willing to take it.” The ranger rubbed his goatee with a large, tanned hand. “I respect her for that, she’s not afraid to be wrong.”

Sarevok gave Valygar a wary glance. “She’s delusional, she hides from her destiny and thinks that her good deeds will save her from her fate, the fate of all of us Bhaalspawn.”

“Could be, but I think of it differently.” Valygar began to rummage through a bag at his waist. 

“It doesn’t matter what you _think_ , it is what it is,” Sarevok replied.

Valygar triumphantly pulled out his pipe from his bag, as well as a small bag of tobacco. “Well,” he said as he began to pack the pipe, “care to hear a story?”

Sarevok sighed. “Go on.”

Valygar lit and match and held it at the small pile of leaves in the bowl of the pipe. In between puffs he began to tell Sarevok the story of how the thief Yoshimo came to join Nessa’s group.  
"By the time I joined her company he had already been traveling with her for a few months, I didn’t trust him but I also didn’t trust her.”

“Ah, the infamous traitor?” Sarevok growled. 

“Aye,” Valygar replied. “Turned out he had entered into an agreement with Irenicus, was bound with a geas.”

“And this is why Nessa refused to bind me? Her _magnanimity_ is misguided.”

Valygar blew out a few rings of smoke. “Yoshimo poisoned us on the boat ride over to Spellhold, used some sort of spell components that let Irenicus knock us out once we got into the asylum.”

“Nessa _pitied_ this man?” Sarevok spat. “Her weakness truly knows no bounds!”

“I would have thought the same, if it weren’t for the time I’d already spent traveling with your sister,” Valygar agreed. “Life’s not so simple.” He paused to take another drink of ale. “Yoshimo suffered, it was only in his last moments that he asked Nessa for her mercy.”

“How poetic,” Sarevok scoffed. 

Valygar laughed and nodded at Sarevok. “Aye, he asked for her to take his heart to a temple of Ilmater, for some chance at peace in the afterlife.”

“Unlikely.”

“She carried it with her for weeks,” Valygar continued and shook his head. “She told me once, when I asked her about it, that she needed to believe that someone could be judged on their heart, even if they were being influenced by something outside of their power to change.”

“Hmph,” Sarevok grumbled. “I see.” That made sense to him, unfortunately he was beginning to understand her perspective on being a Bhaalspawn. He had never questioned it, never struggled against his urges, he had always considered his divine heritage a gift. 

“Sarevok,” Valygar began. He hesitated and took a long drag off of his pipe. “Nessa would never tell you this, but I….I think you should know.”

Sarevok gave him a wary glance. “What?”

“I think you should know why Yoshimo was put under a geas.”

“I assumed it was for financial gain, Irenicus surely had considerable wealth.” 

Valygar shook his head. “No, it was a personal reason.” 

“Jilted ex-lover? Someone murdered by Nessa?”

“His sister.” Valygar looked over at Sarevok, his brown eyes were guarded. “Yoshimo came to Amn looking for his sister, when he found out she was dead he swore to avenge her death.”

“Ridiculous,” Sarevok scoffed. His scornful voice hid a nagging doubt that was growing in the back of his mind. 

“Irenicus offered him information about his sister’s killer, Yoshimo was young and angry and didn’t realize what he was getting himself into,” Valygar continued. “He was a foreigner, came from Kara-Tur.”

Sarevok felt like someone had punched him. The nagging doubt became a cold dagger of unwelcome certainty. “What was his sister’s name?” he demanded. 

Valygar paused. “Tamoko,” he replied, his quiet voice barely audible over the din of the music. 

“Why would you tell me this, ranger, what sort of game is this?” Sarevok bellowed. His loudness startled a few of the nearby patrons. “What could you possibly hope to gain, do you too find pleasure in tormenting me with my past?” Sarevok’s face was contorted with anger. 

“I’m not trying to torment you, friend, and I’ve certainly got nothing to gain.” Valygar set his pipe down on the table and leaned back to rest his shoulders on his chair. “Just think about what I’ve said.” He brought his arms up behind him and let his head rest on his hands. He glanced over at Sarevok, who was sitting upright in his chair, both hands before him on the table. The warrior pushed himself up to standing and said nothing as he strode away from the table. He ducked under the tapestry  
of animal skins to the outside of the tavern.

Valygar let out a long sigh. He remembered when Nessa had found Irenicus’ journal. She was furious with Yoshimo, everyone was, but when the thief was laying at her feet in a puddle of his own blood she couldn’t bring herself to deny him his final request. Once she found the journal she became even more troubled by Yoshimo’s treachery, as well as her culpability for his death. 

His thoughts trailed to Lavok, and an image flashed through his mind of them dragging his ancestor out of the planar sphere so that the dying man could see the sun one last time. Nessa had been right then, Lavok really wasn’t the monster that Valygar thought he was, rather he was possessed by a malevolent spirit. He wondered if Nessa was right about Sarevok, too. 

 

\------------

 

Sarevok stormed out of the tavern and into the dusty, moonlit streets of Amkethran. A crescent moon hung in the clear night sky and the stars shone brightly, but he didn’t notice them. He was seething with anger, how dare the ranger attempt to manipulate him. He had nothing to learn from these fools, their condescension masked as kindness was driving him mad. Sarevok was accustomed to leading through fear and intimidation, he was never _equal_ to any of his companions, he was clearly their superior. How could he entirely beholden to Nessa, she controlled his very _existence_ , yet she demanded nothing of him but the same respect that she so freely gave him? How could she not use her position to her advantage? 

The warrior stalked through the streets and climbed up a narrow ladder to an upper portion of the city. The wood was rickety and strained under his weight, but Sarevok nimbly hoisted himself up onto the rocky ground. There were a few houses scattered here and there, but the area was otherwise empty. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, if someone dared interrupt him he was certain he would kill them.

He strode over to a rocky outcropping and sat down on a smooth, red boulder. His leather armor and thin tunic did nothing to guard him from the cool night breeze, but he didn’t notice, the heat of his rage warmed him. 

_Tamoko_...his thoughts drifted to his ex-lover, no matter how he tried to block her from his mind she kept reappearing. They had met when he was young, she was a few years younger than him. Her family was both wealthy and influential in Kara-Tur and she had accompanied her father in his travel to Baldur’s Gate. He remembered that she did once mention her younger brother, he was frequently in trouble. Tamoko was clearly the favored child in her family, her father became an associate of Rieltar’s and Tamoko frequently joined him at their various business meetings. Sarevok was investigating his heritage at this point, he had just begun to work with Winski and was busy with both gaining influence in the Iron Throne and unlocking the secrets of his birth. He already had a consort, Cythandria, she was a friend of Winski’s and was convinced that Sarevok was destined for greatness. She, of course, was intent upon being part of it. 

His relationship with Tamoko was complicated from the beginning. Rieltar wanted him to seduce her so that he could secure better trade agreements with her father. Sarevok found her an easy target, she was easily manipulated and willing to do whatever he wanted of her. Eventually, he realized that the petite girl had become his closest confidante, she was beautiful, loyal, and had a calming influence on him. Winski feared that Tamoko was too great of a distraction and forbade Sarevok from continuing their relationship. Sarevok, desperate to keep Tamoko by his side, came up with a solution. He would convince her to give herself over to Bhaal, to dedicate herself to Sarevok’s rise to power, then Winski would have no issue with her. She tearfully agreed.

Why was he so haunted by the past? Why now? He never considered any of this when he was alive, before, he never gave a second thought to how Tamoko might have felt. He didn’t care about her, or Nessa, or anyone! It wasn’t his fault if Tamoko was a gullible fool who was blind to who Sarevok really was, she saw what she wanted to see. 

“Bah,” he spat. That was all years ago, she was dead. He wouldn’t waste his new life dwelling on the past. Tamoko interfered with his plans, she betrayed him, why should he give a damn about her. 

The sound of footsteps approaching snapped him out of his daydreaming. He grabbed for his sword and cursed himself when he realized that he had left it in his room. An armored figured came around the rocky outcropping and paused when they caught sight of Sarevok.

“What are you doing here?” a woman’s voice demanded. The figure stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. Sarevok could see Jaheira’s sharp features illuminated against the backdrop of the night sky. 

“I could ask the same of you,” he growled. “Finished meeting with your handlers?”

Jaheira’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “What...I was doing no such th--”

“Lies, woman, even the pink-haired one knows what you are up to.”

Jaheira let out a long sigh and closed her eyes as she exhaled. The meeting with Bernard was contentious, the Harpers had caught word of Sarevok’s return, as she feared they would.

 _He must be dealt with, Jaheira, either you take care of this or we will be forced to intervene._ She had protested, she warned him that Nessa would defend her brother. _Use stealth, whatever means you must, but know that if Nessa stands with him, she will die with him as well_. 

_I am no assassin! This is madness! The man has done nothing wrong, he has paid for his past crimes, I--I see no reason he should--_

_If you cannot see what needs to be done, then you are just as much of a danger as he is._

Jaheira’s blood had run cold. _Are you threatening me, Bernard?_

_It’s not a threat, Jaheira. It is a fact._

_I--I must think on this, you cannot expect…_

_Three days, no more, no less. We will find you._

Sarevok gave her a probing stare. His eyes scanned over her face, she was visibly upset, it was obvious that the meeting had not been a pleasant one. “What happened?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she replied. Her voice was flat, but her brows were creased with worry. 

“More plotting from the Harpers? A mission of self-righteous meddling?”

Jaheira gave him a pained look. “Do you think this is a joke? Do you think I enjoy being called here and there at their bidding? Something is amiss…” her voice trailed off. 

“What did they want, Jaheira?” Sarevok asked after a few minutes of silence.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes were guarded and she folded her arms tightly across her chest. “They want you, Sarevok Anchev.”

Sarevok laughed, a deep, rumbling, scornful laugh. “Of course they do, I welcome the attempt! I’ll gladly bathe my blade in Harper blood.”

Jaheira did not move her eyes from him. “You don’t understand what they have asked of me.”

Sarevok’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll bash your brains out on these rocks if you so much as lay a hand on me, woman.”

“I did not agree to the task! Contrary to what you think of me, I am no murderer!”

“You’ve been threatening me since I took my first breath, you should be glad!” Sarevok snarled. “You will die if you attempt it, of course.”

Jaheira faced flushed with anger. “You despicable man, I have just dug my own grave by telling you all of this! Do not make me reconsider!”

Sarevok fell silent. 

“I cannot return to Athkatla in time to launch any appeal, I have no contacts in Tethyr, they _will_ come for you and they will kill anyone who tries to defend you,” Jaheira continued. “I warned you, fool, there is no place for you here, your crimes follow you and few are as forgiving as your sister.”

“Why do you remain a Harper then, Jaheira, if you are so unwilling to do their bidding?” Sarevok demanded. 

“If I refuse them, then I am a traitor, the penalty for traitors is death,” Jaheira snapped, “if it were simple to leave then I would have done so after Khalid...after he passed.”

“Let them try, I fear no Harper.” Sarevok leaned back against a boulder and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “We have defeated a small army today, I have no doubt Nessa and I can defend ourselves against them.”

“If you left, then there would be no need for Nessa to defend herself! This is your fault, you have added this difficulty to her life! Doesn’t she have enough enemies as it is?”

Sarevok laughed. “Even if I were not here, it is only a matter of time until they would come for her, do not delude yourself. Besides, I am a powerful ally, you cannot deny it.”

Jaheira’s expression grew contemptuous. “I see you have learned nothing from death, still you are blinded by your pride.”

“Bah,” Sarevok scoffed, “say what you will, my life is now tied to Nessa’s.” The warrior gazed up at the half-moon that hung in the black sky. “I will not leave her side, no matter what insults you hurl at me.”

Jaheira moved towards him and he instinctively reached for his sword but remembered it wasn’t there. She gave him a strange look and sank down on one of the flat boulders near his feet. The druid pulled her feet up so that she could rest her arms on her knees. She turned her face upwards towards the night sky and Sarevok could see the stars reflected in her large eyes.

“Watch your distance, druid, do you forget that you have just threatened my life?” Sarevok growled.

Jaheira shrugged and continued to gaze up at the stars. “Go ahead, revenant, I do not fear death.”

The pair fell silent. Eventually Jaheira got up to leave, but still they said nothing to one another. 

Sarevok’s thoughts drifted aimlessly, he was troubled by what Jaheira had told him. His first thought was to use the information to manipulate Nessa into getting rid of the druid, but it seemed pointless. What was his place in the group? What was his place in the world? Everything that he had been certain of was now...unclear. He remembered his early plans for exacting revenge on Nessa, he had thought of countless ways to torture her, kill her. Now, they seemed laughable. 

He was a man torn between his past and the present, his resurrection felt at times more like a rebirth. Was it a second chance? Did such a thing even exist? His thoughts were a cold companion for the evening, the empty streets and half-moon offered him none of the answers he sought.


	6. Endings

The group stood in a dense forest, a ramshackle hunting cabin the only man-made structure in a sea of trees. They had just emerged from Sendai’s hidden enclave, now a tomb for the drow and all of her allies. As they retraced their steps through the woods a small group of hooded figures emerged from the shadows cast by the setting sun.

Nessa and the others readied themselves, she assumed it was a stray pack of drow here to defend their recently deceased leader. 

A leather-clad figure approached her, they had no weapons drawn and she could see slivers of tan skin peeking through the crevices of the armor. She relaxed, but only slightly, Nessa would not attack first but she didn’t trust anyone in these woods. They withdrew their hood to reveal an older, scarred female human face that she did not recognize. Jaheira, however, did.

The druid cursed to herself, they had found them. She knew they would, but gods be damned did she hope that somehow her companions could evade their grasp. It was too late, now.

“Celitha, what are you doing here?” Jaheira said cautiously. She knew the answer already, but she wanted to stall for time. 

The woman gave a wan smile. “Do not play dumb, Jaheira, you have forced our hand.” She had a kind face, but there was a sharpness to her eyes that made Nessa uncomfortable. 

“You know these people?” Nessa asked. Jaheira nodded. Behind the half-elf Nessa could see Sarevok, his eyes were glowing and he had a half-smirk on his thick lips. 

“They are my...associates,” Jaheira began, but was interrupted by a laugh from the woman. Jaheira’s face reddened and her fist clenched around her scimitar. She had never liked Celitha, she was Bernard’s toadie and spent most of her time mashing her lips on his boots. Probably elsewhere, too. 

“Be reasonable, Jaheira, hand him over,” another voice chimed in. A man stepped forward, he was slender and appeared to be half-elven. Nessa could see a bow strapped to his back. There were only five of her group, and nearly ten of the others. She was out of spells, they all were, and they only had a couple potions left between them. 

“Hand _who_ over, Jaheira, can you please start explaining what’s going on…” Nessa said, her hands cautiously hovering over her swords. She spotted a pin on a second woman’s cloak and sudden realization hit her. _Harpers…_

“This is madness, Celitha, surely these is some mistake, the man has paid for his--” Jaheira began.

“You waste your breath, woman,” Sarevok growled. Nessa could see her brother was sizing up his opponents, by now she recognized the way he squared up his heavy jaw and the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. He wanted to kill them, she was certain of it. 

“You do not have to sacrifice the others’ lives as well, Sarevok Anchev, come with us and we will leave your _sisters_ alone.” Celitha gave Nessa a strange look. “For now.”

Nessa felt a rush of anger surge through her. She really, _really_ disliked the Harpers. She glanced over at Imoen and could see her emotions mirrored in her sister’s face. 

“Listen,” she began and took a step towards the leather-clad woman. “You don’t have any business judging him, what authority do you have anyways?”

“The authority of what is good and right!” Celitha hissed through gritted teeth. “We will not stand idly by and watch the Butcher of Baldur’s Gate walk freely while his many victims lay dead in their graves!”

“His death won’t bring any of them back!” Nessa protested. “What if…” her voice faltered and her eyes darted over to Sarevok, “what if he can change, what if he can make amends…” A strange emotion passed over her brother’s face as his eyes met hers, but it was quickly replaced with scorn. 

“It is too late for that,” Celitha said flatly. She motioned to Jaheira. “Bring him, Jaheira, _now_.” 

The druid stood still and met the woman’s gaze. She slowly shook her head. “No, Celitha, I cannot do this.” 

“Do you realize what you are doing?!” the half-elf man sputtered. “This is treason, against _us_ , against your….your friends!” 

Jaheira nodded and bowed her head down towards the ground.

“Khalid would be _so_ proud,” Celitha murmured half under her breath. Jaheira’s eyes snapped back up, Nessa was startled at the fury that burned in them. 

“It is the Harpers that Khalid would be disappointed in!” Jaheira cried. “You are no better than those you condemn, you have been corrupted by your own power!”

“Don’t do this, please.” The quiet voice of a third woman broke through the hostilities. She was younger and seemed to be growing increasingly nervous as the situation between the groups deteriorated. “Just...just give us Sarevok, then we can go…” 

The Harpers froze as Sarevok strode towards them. He stood nearly a head taller than the tallest of them, and he absolutely dwarfed the young woman. 

“I surrender,” he said, his voice emotionless. He gave the girl a smirk as she took a step back from him. “Do I frighten you, little one?” She struggled to meet his gaze.

The two groups stood in stunned silence. Celitha eyed the warrior suspiciously and motioned for a few of the larger men in her group to come forward. 

“I’m glad you’ve decided to come willingly, it would be a shame for more innocent lives to be lost on your account,” she said as the men grabbed Sarevok’s arms. 

Nessa opened her mouth to protest, but she felt Haer’Dalis’ warm hand slide across her shoulder. He tugged at her slightly and she glanced up at Sarevok. He had the same half smirk on his face, his jaw was still squared. She turned towards Haer’Dalis and the look in his eyes confirmed the suspicion in her mind.

_He’s going to kill them._

The men yanked at Sarevok to pull him along with them and Celitha barked a few orders about heading back to the northwest. Sarevok did not struggle against them, he allowed them to bind his hands behind his back and place a burlap sack over his head. Nessa watched as they marched away, she wanted to chase after them but she also didn’t want to end up killing a whole group of Harpers. Annoying or not, they were still a formidable organization with operatives scattered throughout Faerun. 

“Did you know about this?!” Nessa demanded as she wheeled around to face Jaheira.

“I…” Jaheira stammed, “Nessa, please..I…”

“Did you?!”

“Yes!” the druid cried, “yes, there was nothing I could do, damn it!”

Nessa scanned over the druid’s face, searching for some sign that the druid was lying. Thoughts of the Harpers’ early involvement with the Bhaalspawn swirled in her mind. “How am I supposed to trust you if you’re making secret plans with the _Harpers_? Now they’ve taken Sarevok!”

Jaheira sighed. She had anticipated a fight, she never thought for a moment that Sarevok would surrender himself. Only a few nights ago he had scoffed at the very idea.

“I’m not making plans with them, child, I warned Sarevok that they would find him but…”

“Great, so now you are making secret plans with the Harpers _and_ with my ‘abomination’ half-brother?!” Nessa scoffed. 

Jaheira’s brows furrowed in disapproval. “I am not making plans, Nessa, I was caught between the Harpers and Sarevok, powerless to change either of them.”

“What that’s supposed to mean, anyways, they’d leave us alone “for now”,” Imoen interjected. “Does that make anyone else uncomfortable? It makes me uncomfortable.”

“I do not know, child, but as soon as this journey is over I intend to find out,” Jaheira replied. The druid glanced over at the area where Celitha had stood moments ago. “I had my doubts about the Harpers, but this is unacceptable.”

“Ya think?” Imoen shook her head. “I sure hope they know what they got themselves into, taking Sarevok with them.”

Jaheira’s face blanched. She had seen the look in Sarevok’s eye as he passed her. The glint of cruelty, the smug self-assuredness of a man who had killed countless times. The Harpers had indeed forced their hand and there was nothing she could do about it. 

 

\---------------------------  
Back in Amkethran….

_The elf girl asked to keep her room, said they would be gone for a few days but they would be back. The innkeeper was glad to take a few extra coins, he knew the rooms were going to stay empty anyways. He was surprised when a new group of strangers came in looking for rooms. They wanted information, too, about the blue-haired bard who was with the elf girl. It was an odd group, two of them wore heavy robes with big hoods that hid their hair and most of their face. The woman had a canny grin that made him nervous._

_He didn’t want trouble in his establishment, but he also needed coin. The one plopped down a bag so full of coin it made his fingers twitch. Whoever they were, it wouldn’t hurt if they stayed for a night or two._

 

\-----------------------------

 

The group made their way back to Amkethran under the light of the stars and a half moon. They were exhausted and Nessa was growing steadily more worried about Sarevok. Would she know if he...died? He had a fraction of her soul, she still wasn’t sure about the extent of their connection. 

She felt a rush of relief as she caught sight of the inn. They were covered in bits and pieces from various creatures, everything from spiders to illithid. She had considered taking everyone back to the pocket plane, but she felt uncomfortable there. When she was exhausted it was even more difficult to fight against the taint, it was overwhelmingly powerful in her father’s realm. The silence of the long march through the starlight-filled desert was good for her, the quiet helped clear her mind. She liked to sleep in an inn, around other people, normal people living their day-to-day lives. 

Nessa ducked under the animal skin tapesty and gave a friendly wave to the innkeeper. The others followed behind her and they all took their seats at the large table in the center of the open room. A few of the mercenaries Imoen and Nessa had befriended wandered over to chat, and the barmaid came over with both arms full of mugs of ale. Nessa noticed a group sitting at a table in the corner, she didn’t remember seeing them there before. There were two in robes and one woman who was leaned back in her chair with both legs propped up on the table. There was something strange about them. She glanced over at Haer’Dalis.

The bard’s face was stony. He didn’t notice Nessa looking at him, his eyes were locked on the table in the corner. She leaned over to kiss his cheek and even as her lips grazed his skin he didn’t flinch. Nessa laughed and slid a hand behind his jaw to try to pull his face towards her but he grabbed both of her wrists and held her arms still. He turned to look at her and she could see his eyes were full of a mixture of apprehension and sadness. 

“My raven...my love…” he began. His dark eyes darted back and forth between her own, his hands clenched her wrists tightly. 

“What is it?” she asked and looked back at the strange group. _Did he know them?_

The bard gave a long, defeated sigh. He should have known better than to have gotten so attached to Nessa. Normally he would feel glad to have a new chapter, a new beginning. But his story with Nessa was one that he hadn’t finished yet, and he couldn’t bring himself to write the ending. Now, they would be writing it for him, he was certain of it. He regretted telling her so little, it would make it all the harder for her to understand. But it was too late to worry about such things, entropy had come for him. He would obey its call in this, as in all things. 

Haer’Dalis could feel Nessa’s gaze turn back on him, he could see the confusion and concern in her eyes as she searched over him. 

He recognized the woman, she was human so she didn’t need to use any manner of disguise. He could sense the other two, he knew the one immediately. Their presence was jarring to him, it had been many years since they had last seen one another. A decade, maybe. They were wise to hide their appearance in a place like this, but no disguise could hide them from one of their own. 

“Nessa,” he began, “we must speak in private.” She nodded and he grabbed her hand to pull her up from her seat. The two quickly excused themselves from the table and headed towards the staircase to their room. As they passed the table of strangers Nessa could see the woman give Haer’Dalis a strange smile. 

They walked down the bare hallway to their room, their footsteps echoed loudly in the empty corridor. Nessa rummaged through her bag for their key, she could sense Haer’Dalis’ impatience. She quickly opened the door and walked into the dingy, dusty room. There was a large bed against a far wall with two rickety tables to either side of it. A threadbare chair and ottoman were against the left wall, while the right wall had a small writing desk and chair. A fireplace and two small couches were opposite of the bed. Nessa walked to the one couch and sank down onto it. She loosened her robes and unbuckled her scabbards, then threw her swords down at her feet.

Haer’Dalis stood motionless in the doorway, his dark eyes followed her movements but he said nothing. She looked up at him, her pale face expressionless. Her hair looked even darker in the dim light, Haer’Dalis studied her face and her body as she sat there, still. He wanted to run away with her, he wanted to tear off her clothing and please her in every way he knew how, he wanted to do anything but leave her. 

“You’re scaring me,” Nessa whispered, her quiet voice breaking through the silence of the room. 

“Nessa…” Haer’Dalis began. He moved towards her, his eyes not moving from hers. The sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted them.

“Let us in, leatherhead,” a man’s voice rumbled. Haer’Dalis’ brow furrowed and he turned back towards the door. The tiefling hesitated, then pulled the door open. The moonlight that shone through the single window illuminated a large, hooded figure. 

“Not even gonna introduce us to your friend, eh?” a female voice added from behind the hooded man. 

“Of course, come in,” Haer’Dalis said and motioned for them to step into the room. “Have a seat, please.”

Nessa watched cautiously as the three entered the room. Haer’Dalis moved past her towards the fireplace and she tried to catch his eye as he walked by, but he kept his head down. The tiefling quickly lit a stack of firewood and the bright light of the fire illuminated the dingy room. 

“Sorry excuse for a room you’ve got here,” the woman said. Nessa could now see her as she entered the room, she was a lanky, tall woman with strange weapons on her hips and tattoos covering her bare arms. 

The first hooded figure stepped closed to her, his presence gave her an odd feeling, similar to Haer’Dalis but more strong. “Finally, I can get rid of this damned getup,” the man said as he pulled his hood back from his face. His face was a pale white, and his hair was even whiter, but the most startling part of his appearance were the two small horns that protruded from his forehead. His eyes were an orange-red color and his thin mouth was curled in a smirk. He was somewhat tall, taller than Haer’Dalis, and around his neck there was a metal symbol that she had never seen before. 

The third hooded figure moved to the far armchair and sat down. They said nothing but kept their head down as the other two moved to where Nessa was sitting. Haer’Dalis stood next to her and placed a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Never seen a real tanar’ling before, eh prime?” the tiefling said as he crashed down on the couch opposite of Nessa. “Guess she’s used to a nice face like yours?” He gave Haer’Dalis a roguish grin and looked over at Nessa. “Shoulda seen him before he got all those cuts on him!” 

_Cuts? He told me they were ‘markings’..._

After a few moments of awkward silence the pale tiefling clapped his claw-like hands together and leaned forward towards the opposite couch. “Name’s Roth, Roth Salrakas,” he said and extended a hand towards Nessa. “Woulda waited for my brother to introduce me, but I guess he’s too busy trying to figure out what in the Nine Hells I’m doing in his room.”

“Yes, something like that,” Haer’Dalis murmured. 

_Brother…_ Nessa reached forward and grabbed his hand, it reminded her of the Slayer’s. He felt hot to the touch, and she could see his fang-like teeth as he grinned at her. Haer’Dalis had mentioned his brother a few times, but never with any real detail. 

“And you are?” Roth questioned. 

“My name is Nessa,” she replied, her dark green eyes meeting his. He gave her a curious look, then glanced up at Haer’Dalis. 

“I see why you’ve been hiding out here in the faith mine for so long, brother,” the tiefling laughed. His mirth was genuine, but there was something odd about his demeanor. He had only light leather armor, it was a dark black and had some enchantment that she couldn’t figure out. The tiefling released her hand and tried to lean back on the couch, but the large sword strapped to his back prevented him.

“By the lady, I almost forgot I had that on me, you don’t mind if I make myself comfortable do you?” Roth said as he unsheathed his sword and tossed it on the ground beside Nessa’s. He caught sight of her scimitar and let out a low whistle. “Nice piece of metal you’ve got there, must’ve cost you some serious jink.” Nessa didn’t reply, she was too busy studying his sword. It looked similar to Haer’Dalis’, they both had the same type of detailing on the hilt and blade. 

She glanced up at Haer’Dalis but the bard was staring blankly at the far wall. His face looked calm, but she could sense tension radiating from him. The lanky woman slid onto the couch next to Roth, she propped herself up on her elbow as she leaned against the thinly-covered arm. She had brown eyes and brown hair, a messy braid cascaded down her back. A pair of odd-looking goggles were pulled up onto the crown of her head, and she had an unhooked mask that was hanging around her neck. “Name’s Zem,” she said and gave Nessa a quick nod. 

The group sat in silence for a few moments, Nessa’s mind was churning as she tried to think of why Haer’Dalis’ brother could be here, in Amkethran. How did they find them? Interplanar travel was not exactly a cakewalk, and how would they know where to even begin looking? She knew Roth was in the Doomguard, Haer’Dalis had told her that much, and it made her even more nervous. What if they had come...to take Haer’Dalis back? Looking at Roth and Zem, she felt acutely aware of just how little she knew about the bard. 

Her thoughts were broken by the feeling of Haer’Dalis sitting down on the couch beside her. A warm hand glided over hers and his rough fingers wrapped around her own. She turned to look up at him but his face was fixed on Roth’s. 

“I see you’ve been promoted, congratulations are in order,” Haer’Dalis said nonchalantly. She could hear the caution in his voice. Roth snorted and brushed a stray lock of white hair off of his forehead. The brothers didn’t really look like brothers at all, although admittedly Nessa wasn’t sure what range of physical possibilities existed for tieflings. Roth looked much older than Haer’Dalis, the tiefling had always been evasive about his age but he _looked_ like he was in his late 20s. Roth appeared to be in his mid-40s, by human standards, at least. 

He thumbed the medallion at his neck and gave another rakish grin. “Could have had it yourself, Haer’Dalis, if you’d stuck around for a bit longer.”

“I don’t make it a habit to stay anywhere for long.” Nessa felt the bard squeeze her hand tighter.

“No doubt, makes it damn hard to find you, it does,” Zem interrupted. “Fortunately,” she said and gestured towards the hooded figure seated by the door, “Raelis here figured you’d still be with your lady love.”

 _Raelis Shai?!_ Nessa jerked her head in surprise towards the door. Haer’Dalis’ grip on her hand tightened even more and began to hurt. 

“You look surprised, how else do you think we got here?” Roth laughed. “She’s gotten pretty good at whizzing around, Darkwood’s still got a price on her head. Got a hold of her through an old friend, figured she might have some idea where you went running off to.”

Two slender hands reached up to pull the heavy hood back, revealing a beautiful, familiar face. She glanced over at Haer’Dalis and Nessa, then quickly back at the floor beneath her well-heeled feet.

“Of course, my dear Raelis will go to any length to preserve her _own_ freedom,” Haer’Dalis said pointedly. Raelis looked back up at him, her expression was inscrutable but Nessa thought there was a hint of shame in her blood-red eyes.

“Now, now, let’s let bygones be bygones,” Roth interrupted. The tiefling scratched his snow white goatee with a long, clawed finger. “Time’s ticking, let’s get down to business.” He leaned forward and rested two well-muscled arms on his thighs. “We’ve got a problem Haer’Dalis, it’s your decision whether the prime stays to hear about it or not.”

Haer’Dalis turned to look at Nessa. The color was drained out of her face and she hesitated to look back at him. He didn’t want her to hear this, he knew she wouldn’t understand, but some part of him felt it was only right to let her know the truth. 

“Get on with it Roth, she doesn’t have anything to do with Sigil and she couldn’t travel there if she wanted to.” Nessa’s brow furrowed, what did he mean _couldn’t_? He had avoided talking about Sigil, she had asked him if she could visit with him someday and he quickly changed the subject. She didn’t want to press the issue at the time. 

Roth let out a low whistle. “God’s blood, eh? Figured it, there’s something about her…” he paused as his red-orange eyes scanned over her. “Setting the bar a bit high, aren’t ya Haer’Dalis?”

The bard’s jaw clenched involuntarily. Nessa could see that he was growing increasingly irritated, but his brother seemed to be entertained by getting a rise out of him. 

“Do get on with it, Roth, I grow tired of your 'wit',” Haer’Dalis snapped. 

Nessa’s mind was reeling. Haer’Dalis wasn’t dishonest with her, directly, there was just an entire world of information he kept from her. Including the fact that gods, or at least people descended from gods, weren’t allowed in Sigil? So when he said he wanted to go back to Sigil someday, that he knew he would return there, he _also_ knew that it would be without her. A flame of rage began to flicker, its familiar warmth spread through her belly. 

“Of course, where to begin…” Roth hesitated and looked over at Zem. She shrugged. “Pentar’s gone, for one,” she said, her voice sounded as bored as her face looked. 

“Gone?” Haer’Dalis replied. 

“Darkwood’s gone too, the factols have been dropping like flies, some say the Lady’s mazing them but noone’s sure, Ely’s gone half-mad he’s so angry about it. Says it’s the Harmonium’s fault, he’s been arming up every cager he can.” Roth grinned and slapped his hands on his knees. “It’s gonna be a great fight, they say the hardheads are gonna assault the armory itself!”

Haer’Dalis shrugged impassively. “So be it.”

“What wrong with you, all that singing and dancing addled yer brain-box?” Roth leaned forward, his eyes were burning with anticipation. “This is gonna be one hell of a fight! We’ll prolly all get mazed for it, but you should see some of the goods Pentar and Ely have got going with the tanar’ri, boggles the mind!”

“The tanar’ri?” Haer’Dalis sputtered. “You can’t possibly mean that.” 

“Why not! We get the perfect weapons for raining chaos down across the planes, they get to kill a few more baatezu. You’ve missed a lot, brother, it’s time to come back.” Roth’s smile hardened into a tight line. “The Doomguard needs you, _I_ need you, the Salters aren’t gonna lay down and let the hardheads take our gear and our armory.”

Haer’Dalis said nothing in reply. The bard’s inky black eyes were fixed on his brother, he was honestly surprised that Roth would support siding with the tanar’ri. This was Ely Cromlich’s influence, clearly, the cambion ran the armory with an iron fist and made no attempt to hide his loyalties. 

“Pentar’s out, we’re all scrambling to bring back as many of the doomlords as we can, this is why we joined the Doomguard, this is why they gave us our blades, you can’t deny the call!” Roth’s cheeks flushed red with a mixture of anger and excitement. “You got the skin taken off your damned face for this! For this very moment, don’t you dare tell me this prime has sucked the guts right out of ya!”

“Leave Nessa out of this,” Haer’Dalis growled. He had been sitting in silence but Nessa could see that his cheeks were flushed red as well. 

“You’re a sinker, Haer’Dalis, you’re gonna bleed a sinker, and die a sinker too,” Zem added. The woman had a faint grin on her tanned face. 

“Do not lecture me, Zem,” Haer’Dalis snapped. “I have been a Doomguard for longer than you have been alive.”

“Exactly!” Roth interrupted, “a few days in the Cage will set you straight, get your stuff together, we’re heading back to Citadel Sealt tonight.”

“What?” Nessa exclaimed. She had been sitting quietly, there was so much new information that she was struggling to process all of it. 

Roth gave her a cold glare. “The hardheads aren’t going to wait for me to get back, berk, we’ve wasted enough time here as it is.” He reached down to grab his sword with one hand and smacked Zem on the leg with the back of the other. “Up and at ‘em girl.” 

Nessa’s flame of anger erupted into a fire of rage that poured out from her gut and into her long limbs. Haer’Dalis sensed it and grabbed her thigh. “My raven, don’t.” She looked up at him, her eyes full of pain and confusion. He would never forget that look, the betrayal that haunted the eyes that only hours before had been filled with laughter and love. 

Roth noticed Haer’Dalis’ hand on Nessa’s thigh and let out a short laugh.“We’ll give you two _lovebirds_ a few minutes, then we’re out of this skiff.” He looked over at Raelis and jerked his head towards the door. “Get on it Raelis.” The tiefling glowered at him as she rose from her seat. She gave Nessa and Haer’Dalis a regretful look, then turned towards the door. 

Roth stood up from the couch and wrapped his scabbard around his thick shoulder and broad back. He was quite muscular, more so than Haer’Dalis. Nessa studied the metal emblem that hung around his neck, she didn’t recognize the demon-like creature whose visage was the symbol of the Doomguard. Roth noticed her looking at it and gave her another grin, this time it was decidedly less friendly. 

“We’ll be waiting for you downstairs,” Roth said and reached a hand out to rest it on Haer’Dalis’ shoulder. “Don’t even think about trying to run off again, we found you here, we’ll find you elsewheres, too.” Haer’Dalis stiffened, Nessa could see he chafed at his brother’s commanding tone. 

“As you wish, _brother_ ,” Haer’Dalis replied, the calm in his voice a testament to his skill as an actor. 

“You won’t regret it!” Roth said as he pulled his hand back and turned back towards the now-open door. “Say your farewells, parting is such sweet sorrow and all that blek.” In a flash, the group was gone as quickly as they had come.

Nessa sat in stunned silence. She felt angry, numb, deceived, a maelstrom of emotions stormed through her. She desperately wanted to not care, she wanted to pretend that she was expecting this, she didn’t want Haer’Dalis to matter to her as much as he did. In that moment, she felt the weight of her youthful inexperience, she tried to summon some kind of wisdom about how to handle another loss, another abandonment. Nothing came to her, nothing but wrath and the cold realization that this would not be the last person who inflicted this kind of pain on her. 

Haer’Dalis sat quietly beside the elf girl who had blossomed into a strong, powerful woman right before his very eyes. For once he was at a complete loss for words, everything that came to his mind rang hollow and insincere. What could he tell her in these few short moments they had left together? What flimsy excuses could he offer? Would it even make a difference? He had made it clear to her than his loyalties were with the Doomguard, he didn’t want to delve into details but he never pretended he was anything but a faithful Sinker. He had to be, it was part of the ritual. Besides, he knew his brother and Roth was _not_ going to return to Sigil empty-handed. Why risk Nessa’s or the others’ lives, it was inevitable for him to be called back, if not now then some other time. 

“You can take the armor with you,” Nessa murmured, her face still turned away from him. She was referring to the Aslyferund chain that she had recently upgraded for him. It was a gift, given to him before they confronted Yaga-Shura.

“Nessa…” Haer’Dalis began. “I…”

“Don’t,” she hissed and jumped up off the couch. She crossed the room in long strides and stood in front of the small porthole window. The moons dim glow caressed her face and she felt comforted by its gentle embrace. “You don’t have to say anything, just go.”

“My raven…”

“Are you deaf?!” Nessa cried. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, I knew what I was getting myself into, I’m not some helpless girl who needs your pity!” She whipped her head around and he was taken aback by the rage that burned in her eyes. “Go back to your precious Sigil and your Doomguard, I’m tired of hearing about how great they are anyways!”

Haer’Dalis felt the sting of her words and it angered him, it was easy to forget how young she truly was. “Is this what you want, my love, for our last moments together to be spent trading barbs and insults?” he said quietly and stood up from the couch. He took a few steps towards her and stopped, his eyes not moving from hers. 

She could see the pain in them, but she didn’t care. How dare he leave her, and right before they hunted down a half-dragon Bhaalspawn?! She _needed_ him. He tethered her to reality, her nights with him distracted her from the whispers and the false promises that were always echoing in her mind. Damn it, she _loved_ him, more than she had ever loved anyone else before. He let her be free, he was fun, he was kind to her, he had a good heart but wasn’t a sanctimonious nitwit. He made her feel beautiful, desirable, but never once did he try to _possess_ her. She wasn’t some bauble to be shown off, he gave her a level of respect that was totally unlike the other men she had traveled with. He didn’t question her authority, he accepted her decisions for better or for worse, and only in the darkest moments of the Abyss did he fall prey to his own doubts about her future. He was the strongest, most self-confident man she had ever met, and because of that self-assurance their relationship had been built on mutual trust and respect. 

“I’m...I’m sorry, Haer’Dalis…” she whispered. Memories of their time together cut through her anger, it was true, she didn’t want their last moments to tarnish what they had shared. 

He stepped up closer to her, an arm’s length away. She pushed away from the wall and came up to face him. They stood before one another, each struggling to find words to say to the other. She wanted to record every detail of him to her memory, every hair, every muscle. Every inch of his smooth, olive-toned skin, every last mark on his broad cheekbones and angular chin. The soft jingle of his earrings. The way he smoothed his hair back and fussed with his braids. The smell of brimstone and the uneasiness of his presence that danced across her skin like a knife. The feel of his heat against her, his rough hands caressing her body. 

Haer’Dalis reached beneath his armor and pulled out the leather-bound notebook that he had carried with him for years. Nessa knew it well, he spent many a long night scribbling away on some scrap of paper and would keep his bits and pieces of writing tucked up in the small case. He reached forward and pressed the book into her hand. She looked up at him, surprised.

“I do not ask for your forgiveness, Nessa, but mayhaps someday I can have your understanding.” He sighed and pulled his arms back to his sides. “Know that I will never forget the time that we have spent together.” Haer’Dalis steeled himself and turned away from her. The image of her standing there, face pale and drawn, her slender hand loosely holding his flimsy notebook, her black hair illuminated in the silver moonlight, he knew it would be back to haunt him in his dreams. 

She watched as he glided away from her, his steps quiet and graceful. He didn’t stop to look back and she was glad for it, hot tears were spilling down her cheeks. She clutched the notebook in her hand and stood there, motionless. 

A whisper flickered in her tormented mind. She didn’t have the strength to shut it out.

_**They** will always leave you, Nessa, but **I** will keep you safe. I will protect you._

Nessa knew her father’s voice. She had been hearing it for years, for as long as she could remember. Haer’Dalis disappeared into the hallway.

Gods, this was really happening. He was gone.

_Let me help you, daughter. Why do you suffer this disrespect? You are born for greatness, you do not **need** anyone else. _

She sank down onto the floor. Nessa could hear the muffled conversations of patrons in the tavern beneath her, she imagined the surprise of her companions as Haer’Dalis walked out. Would they be surprised? Probably not, she was the only one dumb enough to think he might actually stick around. 

_You are the strongest. You will see._

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

The planar vocabulary is from Voila’s dictionary of planar cant, I hope it wasn’t too heavy-handed.

This is a two-part chapter. I will be posting the second part in the next couple of days. Haer’Dalis’ perspective of the Faction War in Sigil will be another freestanding series of stories, they are currently a work in progress. Zem is the only character I made, the rest already exist in Planescape lore. 

Nessa is going to be a bit unpredictable in the next chapters, not necessarily darker but I think of her as chaotic good. She will turn more neutral as she tries to cope with the demands of figuring out herself and her place in the prophecy. 


	7. Return

This is really Chapter 6: Part 2. I guess it doesn't make a difference whether it's Chapter 6 or 7, but in my mind they go together. They are also both roughly half the length of what I normally post. 

Warning for violence. Sarevok is still chaotic evil, after all. 

\-----------------

“W-what are we going to do with him?” the young girl stuttered. She was walking in front of Sarevok Anchev, the notorious Butcher of Baldur’s Gate. Even though his hands were bound and his head was covered, she could _feel_ him looking at her and could sense the contempt emanating from his towering form. 

“None of your business, Poppy,” Celitha snapped. She was tired, the woods were dense and seemingly unending. Bernard had told her to bring Sarevok to a nearby town but to avoid the main roads and stay under the cover of the forest. She didn’t think that was wise, however, Bernard didn’t tolerate second-guessing.

Sarevok’s arms were held by two men, he could sense their weakness and it disgusted him. The Harpers could have at least sent suitable opponents, it insulted him that they thought he was so easily overpowered. 

He felt a rush of anticipation, finally he was away from Nessa and her companions’ oppressive “morals”. They had slain dozens, maybe hundreds, since his return to the living, but they never _enjoyed_ it. He would take his time, now, he would savor the build-up, the moment when these idiots realized what a terrible mistake they had made, the struggle, and of course the inevitable surrender to his superiority. 

“We’re not going to k-k-kill him, right?” Poppy continued. She was only 20, joining the Harpers was a lifelong dream of hers but she never imagined that her first assignment would be a situation that was starting to look like a hit job. “They’re gonna take him b-b-back to Baldur’s Gate?”

Sarevok snorted. One of the men holding him whacked him across the face with a closed fist. Sarevok made a mental note to kill the one on the left first. Or maybe he should make him watch? 

Celitha spun around and glared at the girl. “I don’t know why Bernard sent you with us, but I will only tell you one more time, it’s none of your bloody business! You’ll do what you’re told!”

Poppy suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She stopped and grabbed onto a tree to steady herself. 

Celitha let out a loud, frustrated sigh. “Why, why?! Why do I always get the new recruits?!”

“Go ahead, I just need to catch my breath, I’m s-s-sorry,” Poppy wheezed between coughs. She felt like she was going to vomit.

“Celitha, cut her some slack,” the half-elf man muttered. “We can stop for a minute.”

“Fine!” Celitha spat. “We can take a _quick_ break, get some water, everyone.”

This was the very moment Sarevok had been waiting for. 

The man holding his right arm let his grip loosen as he reached for his water skin. Sarevok wrenched his arm from his grasp and in one swift motion swung his bound hands upwards into the jaw of the man on his left. He heard the man on the right gasp and lurch towards him. Sarevok side-stepped and reached up to rip the burlap off of his head. _Ahhh...just as it should be._ Time seemed to slow as the fabric slid past his eyes. He could see the fear, the horror, but what really satisfied him was the challenge he saw in the faces of a few of the Harpers. He wanted them to fight for their lives, he wanted to drink their desperation and watch their hopes and dreams drain out of them onto the forest floor. 

The man who had been holding his right arm had tripped and fallen over his own feet. Sarevok savagely kicked him in the head, then turned to strike the other man again, this time the blow knocked him out. The idiots hadn’t even tied his knots properly, they didn’t push his elbows together when they bound his wrists. He quickly slipped his hands out of their bonds. He dodged an arrow as he reached down to grab his sword off the back of the man on the ground. 

He charged towards the rest of them. Celitha attempted to parry his strike but the force of his swing knocked her backwards into a tree. The crack of bones and the echoes of screams rang through the remote wilderness.

 

\---------------------

 

“Your tears won’t save you, little one,” Sarevok growled as he dragged the man who cracked him in the head across the ground. He had bound him with the length of rope, _properly_ , of course. 

Poppy was still clinging to the same tree. She didn’t know what happened, Celitha had called for a break and then moments later everyone was dead. Everyone but her and one man, she was pretty sure his name was Feris but she had only just met him a few days ago. She wanted to run, but she was too scared. Where would she even go? They had been walking for hours and there was still no sign of civilization. 

Sarevok sat the man up against a tree and slapped him across the face. “Wake up, fool, you’re no use to me unconscious.”

Feris mumbled and slowly opened his swollen eyes. They jerked open when he realized where he was, what had happened, and who was crouching in front of him.

“Excellent,” Sarevok rumbled. He gave the man a chilling grin. 

Poppy stifled a shriek. Sarevok stood up and turned towards her. The girl was shaking violently, she was so frightened that he thought she might faint before he could even lay a hand on her. Except, he wasn’t going to lay a hand on her, he was going to slit her throat. It was his preferred method of killing, torture could be amusing but he didn’t have much of a taste for it unless he was trying to extract information.

He strode towards the girl and reached for a dagger that he kept tucked at his waist. He didn’t particularly enjoy killing women, especially sniveling weaklings like this girl, but he couldn’t let the man go unpunished. 

“I-I-I didn’t want to kill you,” the girl blurted out.

Sarevok stood before her, his dagger in one hand and a cruel sneer on his face. “I don’t care,” he replied. He reached for her and grabbed a fistful of her hair. “You were foolish to think that you could.”

“Don’t hurt me, please,” Poppy begged. Tears were streaming down her face. Sarevok could hear the man behind him screaming. He dragged the girl by her hair over to where the man was seated. 

“If meddling idiots like you hadn’t interfered, I could have bathed this land in rivers of blood!” He ripped the girl’s head back to expose her neck. “I’ll settle for bathing you in blood, instead.”

She went limp and Sarevok scrambled to grab her as she fell to the ground. _Damn it!_ he cursed to himself. He knew she was going to pass out, this was why he couldn’t stand killing women. It ruined the whole moment, it wasn’t nearly as fear-inducing to watch someone bleed out when they were already unconscious. 

She was flopped out on the dark earth, her legs crumpled underneath her and both arms were splayed out to either side. He kicked at her shoulder, but she didn’t respond. He reached down and grabbed her hair and yanked her up, but when he let go her head fell back down to the ground. 

Sarevok grumbled loudly and squatted down beside her. He poked at her a few more times but she was not waking up. 

He turned back towards the bound man. He would have to settle for killing the man, the girl wasn't going to cooperate. A few moments later his dagger was covered in blood and the man’s head was nearly detached from his body. 

Sarevok came back to the girl. He cleaned his dagger as he stood over her body, waiting for her to show some signs of life. If a person fainted from fear, it usually only took a few minutes for them to wake up again. 

Poppy’s vision slowly returned to her, she could taste dirt in her mouth and felt like she had been punched in the head. She attempted to stand up but her limbs were a tangled mess.

Sarevok tried to muster the will to kill her. She was so pathetic it seemed beneath him. Besides, killing the whole group hadn’t been as satisfying as he had thought it would be. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he could remember what it used to feel like and now he just felt...empty. It was disconcerting.

“Get out of here,” he growled. Poppy rolled herself over onto her side and looked up at Sarevok. Her eyes jumped open at the sight of him cleaning his dagger. Blood was splattered over his hands and his armor. She scrambled to get up and managed to crawl a few feet away but she was still too disoriented to stand. 

“I-I don’t think I can walk,” Poppy stuttered. She tasted something metallic in her mouth, it had to be blood. She was going to die out here, anyways, why wouldn’t he get it over with?

Sarevok walked up to her and grumbled as he reached down to hoist her onto her feet. He pulled her up by both arms and held her up in front of him.

“You will do as I say, girl, or else I will break your legs and leave you for the wolves,” he snarled. She looked at him and nodded. He could see her eyes start to roll back into her head.

“Damn it girl, I’m not going to kill you!” he roared as he shook her to keep her from passing out _again_.

“W-w-what?” she mumbled. Her legs gave out and Sarevok strained to hold her up.

“You little fool,” he growled between clenched teeth. This wasn’t worth his time, he should just kill the girl and leave her with the others. But his anger had subsided and now that he was holding her in front of him, alone, he felt an aversion to killing her. She was a plain-looking girl, probably some middle-class child with dreams of saving the world. “Poppy” also didn’t seem thrilled with the prospect of killing him, so perhaps he could spare her life in turn. 

Sarevok lowered the girl down to the ground where she slumped into a half-seated position. He rifled through his pack that the idiot Harpers had neglected to empty and found a small healing potion. He uncorked it and offered it to the girl. She looked at it suspiciously, then glanced back up at him. Tears began to trickle down her dirt-spattered face. 

Sarevok let out a long, irritated sigh. “It’s a healing potion,” he said flatly. Confusion flashed through the girl’s big, dark hazel eyes. Sarevok pushed it towards her again and shook his head. “Poison is for cowards. Drink it.”

Poppy grabbed the vial and poured the cool liquid down her throat. She immediately felt better, her headache subsided and the strength returned to her legs. 

“Th-th-thanks,” she stammered nervously. She had no idea what was going on, minutes ago he had a dagger at her throat and now he was giving her a healing potion?

Sarevok strode towards the corpses strewn across the ground and rummaged through their packs. He found a few more healing potions and some gold, then ripped off each of their Harper pins. Poppy froze when he turned back and extended his enormous hand towards her. “Your pin,” he snarled. 

She fumbled with her cloak and stuck herself a few times as her trembling fingers tried to undo the pin. Poppy could tell that Sarevok was getting increasingly impatient with her and it made her even more nervous. He was going to kill her, she just knew it, she tried to calm herself down but the nausea was overwhelming. She dropped the pin in his thick palm and his long fingers curled around it. She could hear it cracking as he crushed it. His eyes had been glowing bright amber, but now the amber was beginning to fade into a light brown. 

“Consider this your liberation,” he said, his thick lips curled in a half-smile. 

Poppy swallowed hard and nodded. She sure didn’t feel liberated. 

“B-b-ut, my f-f-f-riends, you k-k-killed them…” she whispered. Sarevok’s eyes narrowed and she immediately regretted saying anything. 

“Your _friends_ hunted _me_ , Iittle one,” Sarevok hissed. “My crime is what? Existence? The fires of the Abyss were not punishment enough?” Poppy began to shake again, she could see the anger flaring in the man’s face.

“B-b-but, the children…” she stammered. 

Sarevok’s brow furrowed. “Children?” he replied. He gave her an irritated look. “What are you talking about, girl?”

“You s-s-sacrificed children, in B-B-Baldur’s Gate, they said the B-B-Bhaalists kidnapped children for their r-r-rituals,” Poppy stuttered and tried to avoid Sarevok’s burning stare.

Sarevok let out a contemptuous snort. “Nonsense, I did no such thing.”

Poppy glanced up at him, confused. “But…”

“Ironic, as well, if the _Harpers_ fabricated such lies,” Sarevok continued. “Children are no more useful to Bhaal than an adult, age is no consideration, what a preposterous rumor.” 

“Rumor…?”

“Child, if the Bhaalists began snatching rosy-cheeked babes from their mothers’ arms, do you not think that would attract undue attention to their efforts? Ridiculous.” Sarevok snorted again. 

“I g-g-guess…” Poppy hesitated. He was right, it sounded a bit silly now that she thought about it. 

“Get up, I’m taking you with me, Nessa can decide what to do with you.” Sarevok held out a hand and she hesitated before she reached for it. He pulled the girl up onto her feet. 

“I’m Poppy,” she said as she let go of his hand. “Poppy G-G-Gladrask.”

“I didn’t ask for your name, whelp,” Sarevok snapped. 

“Right, sorry,” she mumbled. The girl straightened her leather armor and made sure her short sword was still at her waist. She hurried to keep up with the warrior, he was quite tall and crossed the forest floor in long strides. 

Sarevok cursed to himself. How was he going to explain this to Nessa without her interpreting his decision to spare the girl as some sign of weakness, or _compassion_? Deep down, he knew that there was a shred of pity that had wormed its way into his heart. He had no interest in killing a blubbering girl who didn’t even have the presence of mind to pull out her sword. Damn it, he knew Nessa would think of this as some kind of victory for her and her pathetic worldview. 

Poppy chased after him but he did not slow down, they had many hours of travel left before they could reach Amkethran. Fortunately, Sarevok knew how to read the stars and remembered that a major road ran directly to the east of their location. He hoped the girl would be smart enough to keep her mouth shut and not try something stupid like calling for help if she caught sight of other travelers. 

“Keep up,” he commanded. Poppy gulped and sped up, she couldn’t believe that a man of his size, with his amount of gear, could march at such a fast clip. She didn’t know what to think, she’d heard of Nessa of Candlekeep, everyone in Amn had, at first she was the greatest hero of their day but now rumors were flooding in from Tethyr that she had turned to evil. They said it was expected, she was a Bhaalspawn, it was in her blood. Then more rumors came, hushed whispers that Nessa had resurrected her dead brother with some kind of foul necromancy. They said she fancied herself to be the new Bhaal, and her brother would be her high priest. Now she, Poppy Gladrask, a simple girl from Crimmor, was their prisoner. This was a really, _really_ bad day. 

 

\----------------------

 

Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth  
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cutouts  
Speak no feeling, no, I don't believe you  
You don't care a bit, you don't care a bit  
Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth  
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cutouts  
Speak no feeling, no, I don't believe you  
You don't care a bit, you don't care a bit  


__

__

- _Hide and Seek_ , Imogen Heap

 

Nessa laid in a ball of crumpled papers on the floor of her room. She had read them all, over and over again, nothing in them gave her the relief she sought. She wanted to hate him, she wanted to find something in them that would make sense of what had just happened. She searched desperately for meaning in the little poems and journal entries, but there was none to be found. Sure, now she knew more of who he was, what had happened in his life...but absolutely no why. His motivations were no clearer to her now than they had ever been. What was there to understand? What was he even talking about, _understand_ him, it would be easier to forgive the man than to figure him out! 

Maybe that was his point? Could it be that his dedication to being an agent of entropy forced a level of detachment that she, cynically, would call being shallow? He said he lived for today, but in reality he lived each day under the shadow of the inevitability of death, destruction, oblivion. It was madness, utter madness. Maybe he wanted her to understand that he _couldn’t_ love her like she wanted to be loved, it was impossible for him. That was no consolation to her, not now. 

The fire had burned down to a heap of glowing embers. She gathered up the papers and lifted herself up onto her feet. Her heels dragged in slow steps across the floor, then she sank down onto one of the couches. Nessa gave the the scribblings a final look, she traced her fingers over the tiefling’s strange, ornate handwriting. One-by-one she dropped them unceremoniously onto the orange coals. The flames licked at the edges of the papers, she watched as the fire slowly consumed the creased pages and tear-smeared ink. She didn't want to keep them, Haer'Dalis wouldn't want her to, anyways. He wouldn't want her to be suffering because of him, he wouldn't want her to cling memories of him. 

Haer’Dalis was gone. She felt the weight of his absence hanging in the air like a dense fog. She roamed around her room, Imoen knocked on her door but she asked to be left alone. _Just give me until tomorrow, please,_ she said. Imoen sighed and returned to the main room below. Valygar and Jaheira were perplexed, Haer’Dalis had left suddenly and hadn’t stopped to say farewell. He didn’t look to be under any duress so they didn’t think it was their business to interfere. Imoen had called after him, but he didn’t even pause, if anything his pace quickened. He darted through the front doorway to the outside. Imoen rushed after him but when she pushed the animal skins aside she saw only the dusty, empty street. The tiefling had vanished. His strange companions, too. 

Nessa wanted to sleep but she was afraid of the dreams that she knew would come. The taint could sense her weakness, she was sure of it. It was just like Sarevok, it searched for any opportunity to gets its claws in and would tear her apart if she let it. 

She stripped her robes off and laid on the bed in her thin underclothes. The room was cooler now, the fire had died and only a few remnants of charred papers remained on the stone hearth. Goosebumps formed on her exposed skin but she didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to cover herself in the blankets that smelled like _him_. 

Sleep came over her suddenly and she welcomed its black embrace.

 

\------------------------------

Sarevok and Poppy approached Amkethran in the middle of the night, the stars lit their path and there were few other travelers on the roads. Poppy was struggling to keep walking, she had already fallen a number of times and Sarevok had been forced to help her back up. 

He was glad to see the town, he was beginning to _strongly_ regret bringing the girl with him. But what was he supposed to do, now that he had spared her? Leave her on the road to be picked up by some bandits or slavers? Leave her to the mercy of the forest? _Bah…_ he grumbled to himself. He did not understand how Nessa could show this kind of mercy to every weakling that crossed her path. It was exhausting.

The two ducked under the animal skin tapestry and entered the now-empty tavern room. His companions were nowhere to be seen, but Sarevok wasn’t surprised, it was the early hours of the morning. The sun would be rising soon, he hoped he could get at least a few hours of rest before they set out the next morning. 

There was, however, the issue of the girl. Sarevok was begrudgingly sharing a room with the ranger, and Imoen and Jaheira were doubled up as well. Nessa and the bard were of course sharing a room. A bed, too. His sister was an idiot to be distracting herself with such mortal nonsense when she could be occupying herself with attaining _godhood_. 

He’d have to talk to her about Poppy in the morning. For now, he’d stuff the girl in Jaheira and Imoen’s room. Let the one Harper deal with the other, he was done with her. 

The pair trudged up the staircase to the long hallway of rooms. Sarevok pulled Poppy to Jaheira and Imoen’s door and rapped gently on the door. He could hear someone jump out their bed and creep over to the doorway.

“Who is it?!” a familiar voice hissed. Sarevok was relieved that it was Jaheira who came to the door and not Imoen. He was in no mood for her provocations. 

“Sarevok.”

The druid let out a long sigh. “Why do you disturb us in the middle of our rest, are you that eager to brag about your exploits?”

Sarevok wanted to punch through the door and strangle the woman. “Open the door Jaheira, _now_.”

Jaheira paused, then opened the door only a crack. A single blue eye peeked through the opening and caught sight of Sarevok. He was still splattered with flecks of dried blood. She saw something move behind him. No, not something, someone. 

“What...who is that…”

“She’s yours now,” Sarevok snarled and shoved the girl towards the doorway. Jaheira opened it and stared at the girl, she was one of the Harpers who came to apprehend Sarevok. 

“My child,” Jaheira began, but she was interrupted by the girl toppling over towards her. The druid struggled to prop the girl up, she was obviously exhausted and probably dehydrated as well. “What have you done, Sarevok…” she murmured and looked up at him with sharp, cautious eyes.

Sarevok gave her a cruel smirk. “Only what I have been forced to do by your _associates_ , Jaheira.” 

“Why would you bring her here, are the others...are they all…” she began, but caught herself. She already knew the answer.

“I will discuss this with Nessa in the morning, for now, she is your responsibility.” Sarevok turned to walk to his own room but the sudden shift in Jaheira’s expression stopped him. 

“Nessa....she...I don’t know if she will be able to discuss this in the morning,” Jaheira said.

“What?” Sarevok growled. “What do you mean, what has happened?”

“The bard is gone.”

“Gone?” Sarevok looked at her, confused.

Jaheira turned to help Poppy into an armchair that was next to the doorway. She crept back out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind her. 

“Three strangers were here waiting for him when we returned, he said nothing to us as he left and Nessa has refused to come out of her room.” Sarevok could see that Jaheira was concerned, she had heavy circles under her eyes and her thin brows were tightly knit. 

Jaheira _was_ concerned, she wasn’t even asleep when Sarevok knocked on her door. This was terrible timing, for Nessa, and Jaheira feared for what would happen if her emotions spun out of control. Nessa was a level-headed girl, but she was young and inexperienced. Jaheira had tried to tell her that she was getting too involved with the bard, too quickly, but Nessa had ignored her warnings. He was good to her, Jaheira eventually grew to tolerate their relationship, but a sudden departure seemed inevitable with such a man.

“Good riddance,” Sarevok spat. He didn’t care for the bard or for the bard’s relationship with Nessa. The tiefling was decent with a blade, but he was easily replaced. 

“Yes, I’m sure this will be a great boon to your plans of using your sister as a vessel for your own ambitions,” Jaheira sneered. Sarevok glared at her. The druid didn’t back down from his gaze.

“We must seek out Abazigal, there is no time for her to be moping!”

Jaheira shrugged and shook her head. “What can we do? Hopefully a night of solitude will be enough for her to collect herself.”

“Hmph,” Sarevok scoffed. “I’ll speak with her in the morning.”

He turned and walked down the corridor to his own room. He was tired, his legs ached and he wanted nothing more than to strip off his dirty armor and collapse into bed. 

Sarevok stalked silently into his room and unclipped his various pieces of platemail. The room was cold but it felt refreshing on his overheated skin. He was covered in sweat and salt but there was no bad to be had at this hour, it would have to wait. The ranger was snoring steadily and didn’t appear to be disturbed by his movements. 

The warrior stretched himself out on his narrow bed. His feet hung off the end but he didn’t care, he was too spent to try to find a more comfortable position. Sarevok’s mind drifted to Nessa. Jaheira wasn’t entirely wrong, the bard’s absence would provide the perfect opportunity for him to exert more influence over his sister. 

Sleep eluded him as he laid there, his body was fatigued but his mind was churning with thoughts of what had been and what could be. His ambition was everything to him, once, and without it guiding his path he felt rudderless. He was scrambling to gobble up whatever scraps he could from his sister's successes and it tormented him. 

_What if he can change, what if he can make amends..._ Sarevok had nearly swallowed his tongue when she said that to the Harper bitch. He knew better now than to think that Nessa was stupid, but did she really mean those words? It had been so long since anyone had seen anything in him other than an opportunity for power. His mother thought there was something redeemable in him, she saw past the vicious outbursts and destructive rages. She knew he was hardened because he had to be...a cruel, unfair world begets cruel, callous people. But she was dead. Her kind, trusting nature had gotten her nothing more than an early grave. 

Nessa knew more about his past than anyone, much to his annoyance. How could she not use it as a weapon against him? How could she not abuse the power she had over him? How could she not be consumed with seeking vengeance against him for all that he had done to her? How could she give him a second chance at life, no oath required, no loyalty demanded? 

_You’re a free man,_ she had told him, moments after he had purposely provoked her into changing into the Slayer. It was maddening, he had always struggled to control everything, his life, his destiny, his friends, his lovers. 

Nessa was the day to his night. She was fiercely independent and gladly gave others the same freedom that she required. Surely it was why the bard was so enamored with her, Sarevok could not deny that it was an attractive quality. A wild mare, one that he longed to break. If he even could.


	8. Longing

Sorry for the absence, I got into a bit of a seasonal funk and then had family visiting, etc etc. I had a direction I wanted to take this story and I just couldn't make it happen. Instead, I kept ending up with some form of the scenario that arises in this chapter. I'm kinda pissed about it, tbh! Gotta change some tags now...

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The bright light of the morning sun pierced through the small window in Nessa’s room. She was awake but unwilling to move, paralyzed by the loneliness that squeezed her heart and gnawed at her empty stomach. She missed his arms, his soft hair, the steady sound of his breathing and the rise and fall of his scarred chest. His scent clung to the sheets, it was the only thing left of him besides her memories. 

The whole evening had been so unexpected, she had been exhausted from the assault on Sendai’s enclave and could barely process what had transpired. Should she have stopped him? Should she have begged him to stay with her? Would her tears have changed his mind or would they have only made her feel all the more pathetic? She didn’t even kiss him, touch him...it was like a dream. A nightmare. 

Her long black hair spilled across the rough fabric of her pillowcase. Her slender hand was gently caressing the empty space beside her. 

She regretted burning his journal, but she also knew that if she hadn’t burned it then, with her mind clouded with anger and pain, she never would have. What use was it to her? He was gone, he had made it clear that entropy had no room for sentimentality. What was the use in prolonging her suffering by keeping some book to pull out whenever she wanted to torture herself with memories? 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. 

“Who is it?” she called out, her throat dry and her vocal cords cracking.

“Sarevok,” a low voice rumbled in reply.

Nessa jolted up in surprise. She had nearly forgotten about Sarevok being taken hostage. Relief ran through her at the sound of his voice, temporarily numbing the pain of her grief. Of course, his presence meant that the Harpers were surely dead...she tried not to think about it. 

He tried to turn the knob but it was locked. “Let me in, we need to talk.” He sounded irritated, but there was an odd hint of apprehension.

Nessa grabbed for a sheet and wrapped it around herself. She padded over to the door and quickly turned the key to unlock it. She pulled the door open and the light from her room illuminated the dingy hallway. Sarevok was standing before her, his armor half-removed and covered in random splatters of blood and gore.

“You’re a mess,” she said, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Sarevok snorted and strode forward into her room. He brushed past her and tried not to notice her pale, bared shoulders. Her black hair cascaded over them in dark waves, she had a blanket gathered around her chest and seemingly little else beneath it. 

“Your concern for my welfare is overwhelming, Nessa,” he drawled. “I returned early this morning, I had little time to clean myself.”

“Obviously,” she whispered under her breath. She felt too vulnerable with him like this, alone in her room, no weapons or armor. He looked exhausted, his amber eyes were hooded and his heavy brows shadowed the dark circles under them. Sarevok glanced around her room and then back at her. The charred remnants of paper in the fireplace did not escape his notice, nor did the disheveled state of her bed and clothing scattered about. 

He turned back towards her and she drew the blanket tighter up around her chest. Her face was drawn, her cheeks had none of their usual pink glow, even her eyes were unfocused, her look distant. 

“When will we begin the journey to Abazigal’s lair?” Sarevok demanded. He could sense the sadness hanging in the air, but he had no interest in comforting Nessa. He knew well the price of romantic attachments for a Bhaalspawn. There was no ‘love’ for their kind, none of the trivialities mere mortals concerned themselves with. Besides, the bard was clearly unreliable and undeserving of her affections. This was a lesson she would do well to learn, he would not soften the blow. 

“I…” Nessa faltered. She tried to summon words but they wouldn’t come to her. Sarevok’s eyes burned through her, the intensity of his unblinking stare and their close proximity made her stomach clench in knots. “I think we should wait until tomorrow, there have been some...changes...to the plan.” She broke away from his gaze and looked past him to the window on the far wall. The sun’s rays spilled across her bed, across the clothing scattered across the sheets. A wave of loneliness crashed into her.

“Yes, Jaheira mentioned.” Sarevok’s mouth tightened into a frown. “The bard should be easy enough to replace, surely there is another companion you can summon?”

Nessa felt a rush of anger at his words. _Replace?_ Of course Sarevok would think it so simple, he had given up on caring about anyone else but himself a long time ago. 

“Actually, I do not have any former companions with a similar skill set,” she replied curtly. 

“What of a cleric? Jaheira’s healing spells are exhausted by the end of a battle, and without the paladin we are forced to reply on potions.” 

Nessa shook her head. “Viconia ran off after a fight with Keldorn, and the only other cleric I know is Anomen. He’s…” she paused and glanced back at Sarevok. “Well, he’s a self-righteous prick and the last time I saw him he was having a temper-tantrum because I ‘rebuffed his advances’.”

Sarevok sighed loudly. “Your success is ever more surprising.”

“Is that all you came here for? To try to tell me what to do?” A flame of anger began to flicker in Nessa’s eyes. There was a warning tone to her voice. 

“I...no, I did not…” Sarevok stammered. She was right, it was exceedingly difficult for him to keep himself from taking charge of the group. Following was not his habit. 

“I want to be alone,” Nessa said flatly and turned away from him. She walked across the room and sank down onto a threadbare couch. His eyes followed her but he remained standing in the center of the room. Her blanket slipped off of her knees and revealed long, muscular calves and thighs. She didn’t care to cover herself, she wanted him to leave, immediately. 

“There is no time for mourning your _loss_ , Nessa,” Sarevok growled. 

Nessa said nothing in reply. He could see her cheeks flushing and her breath quickening. There was a sudden change in the air, sadness was being replaced with rage. She was vulnerable, surely the taint had been provoked by her anger and her grief. It would shield her from her pain but such protection came at a price. Sarevok knew the bargain well, he had freely traded every last shred of his humanity in order to be free from his sentimental weakness. 

Yet now, alone with her in her room, seeing the sorrow that shone in her dark green eyes, Sarevok had an odd sense of regret.

“Why did you come here?” Nessa whispered. Her voice was small and hollow, but the aura of anger was still palpable. “To mock me? To twist the knife? Is my suffering _that_ irresistible to you?”

“If you accepted the power offered to you, you would feel nothing!” Sarevok spat. His own temper flared and loosed his tongue. “This pathetic sniveling is beneath you, sister...you, you could be a _goddess_ , men would throw themselves at your feet in supplication!” 

“What?! This again?!” Nessa cried. She jerked up to a sitting position and her hair flooded across her shoulders. The blanket fell away and exposed her pale skin and thin underclothes. “I’d rather feel this...this...rejection than feel nothing at all! How dare you try to take advantage of me, when are you going to give up all of this stupid plotting and scheming?!” Her fists were clenched and he could see her slender, muscular arms flexing. 

“Take advantage?!” Sarevok scoffed. “I am trying to _help_ you!” He crossed the room in quick strides and came to stand before her.

“Help?!” Nessa laughed. “You only care about yourself, _brother_ , what kind of fool do you take me for?” A hint of malice glittered in her eyes. 

Sarevok sighed loudly in frustration. Why was it so difficult to talk to her? He had come to her room to inform her of his return and to plan for their travel. The issue of the girl, Poppy, of course also had to be discussed. Being alone with her muddled his head. He had wanted nothing more than to kill her, to feel her life fade away with his hands around her throat, but now he was distracted by her half-bared torso and legs. If he touched her, strangulation would be the last thing on his mind. 

He looked down at her, his large frame towered over her. Sarevok lowered himself onto the couch across from her, his eyes not moving from hers. They sat in silence for a few moments, Sarevok’s exhaustion sapped his will to argue with her. The anger in the air subsided, replaced again by the heavy fog of sadness that clung to Nessa. 

“Before...when the Harpers stumbled upon us…” Sarevok hesitated. “I cannot imagine that you meant what you said.”

Nessa looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. “About what?”

“About making amends.”

“Of course I meant it.” 

Sarevok’s eyebrows furrowed. “It appears that I earned a title after my death, the “Butcher of Baldur’s Gate”,” he paused and rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “But here you are, sitting on a couch with no armor, no weapons, no one knows we are together, I could strangle you and be gone before they found the body.” 

“I am a mage, you know, I don’t _need_ weapons,” Nessa muttered under her breath.

Sarevok frowned at her. “I do not understand you, if I were you…”

“You aren’t me.” Nessa gave Sarevok a pointed look. “What do you want to hear? That I hate you? That I want you to die and burn in the Abyss, again? That this is all some elaborate plot to punish you?”

“Yes, that would be reasonable.”

Nessa laughed bitterly. “What, exactly, would that do for me? What would the point of that be?”

Sarevok leaned forward. “Retribution.”

“Ha...no, I’ll avoid retribution as much as possible, thank you.” Nessa slid her pale hands along the length of her upper arms and gripped her elbows tightly. She thought of all of the people who had died, the people of Saradush, the drow soldiers...no, retribution was something she feared more than death itself. 

Sarevok stared at her, his eyes boring through her. A few seconds of silence passed between them. “What is this then? You think I deserve some kind of...second chance? _Redemption_?” His scornful voice broke through the quiet.

“Deserve? No, probably not…” Nessa paused. “But life’s not about what we deserve. It’s not fair, it doesn’t make sense, we just...make the best of it.” Tears began to well in her eyes. 

A pang of remorse struck Sarevok.

Nessa tried to blink back her tears, she would rather stab herself than cry in front of him. The intense look he was giving her seemed almost contemptuous. Disgusted, even. 

Silence fell between them again. 

“Why are you so afraid of me?” Nessa whispered. Her green eyes looked up at him, he was surprised by the sudden vulnerability in her expression. 

“Afraid of you? What nonsense are you spouting?” Sarevok sneered at her. 

Nessa didn’t blink or look away from him. “I want to believe in you, Sarevok, I _have _to believe in you.” She scanned over his heavy, tattooed face. “How can I have any hope for myself if I don’t have hope for you?”__

__Sarevok suddenly surged up from his seat. His movement startled Nessa and she pressed backwards against the arm of the couch. “What kind of game is this, Nessa?” he demanded. His eyes ignited in a blaze of golden fire. “How can you know these things...how…” He stormed over to the fireplace and leaned his arms against the wooden mantle. “You couldn’t possibly know, what cruel tricks are you playing…”_ _

__“Sarevok…” Nessa whispered. The sound of her saying his name drove him even madder. He whipped around to face her._ _

__Nessa eyes roved over the broken, conflicted man standing before her. Her once-brother, now reluctant companion, once her greatest enemy and now the only person who could possibly understand the challenges that faced her. A man who knew nothing but exploitation, domination, and fear. What could he possibly fear in _her_?_ _

__She looked even more like his mother, the concern in her eyes and the dark hair pooled around her seemed ethereal in the pale morning light. It was one of his most vivid memories of his foster mother, an evening when she sat on his bed and cradled his head in her lap. He had gotten into trouble with some of the local children, they had mocked him and he had savagely beaten one of the boys unconscious. Sarevok had fought back tears but they fell regardless, his mother gently wiped them with a soft cloth._ _

__

__

___”Why am I so bad,” he whispered as he pressed his hands over his eyes._ _ _

___“Shh,” his mother shushed and pulled his hands into her own. “There’s nothing bad about you, don’t listen to them.”_ _ _

___“I hurt him, mother, I hurt him a lot.”_ _ _

___She squeezed his hands tightly. “I know, my dear Sarevok, you don’t realize your own strength.”_ _ _

___“But I wanted to hurt him, I didn’t want to stop.”_ _ _

___His mother nodded and folded his hands over his chest. “Everyone had to learn to control their anger, my son.”_ _ _

___“Father doesn’t,” he replied flatly. His amber eyes looked up at her, his face scornful._ _ _

___His mother sighed. “You can choose to be different.”_ _ _

___“Do you think I can be any different, mother?”_ _ _

___Her eyes opened in surprise. “Of course, what do you mean…”_ _ _

___“Do you **really** think so? Father says I won’t amount to anything, he threatens to throw me back out on the streets, the other boys call me a bastard, an urchin…” Tears began to well up in his eyes again._ _ _

___His mother leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead. “I will always believe in you, Sarevok.” She brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes and smiled down at him._ _ _

___“Why…” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room._ _ _

___His mother’s smile grew more pensive. “Because I want to believe in you, my son, I **have** to,” she paused and rested a light hand on his chest. “How could I have any hope for myself, for your father, if I didn’t have hope for you?” _ _ _

___Sarevok lay there, silent, for what seemed like hours. The gentle sound of his mother’s breathing lulled him to sleep, the warmth of her touch chased away his fears. He loved her so much, more than he thought was even possible._ _ _

__

__

__The last barrier he had against Nessa broke. It crashed around him, he gripped onto the mantle with one hand to steady himself but the floor was bucking beneath his feet._ _

__“Are you...ok?” Nessa asked, her voice hesitant._ _

__His eyes locked on her and a pulse of desire rushed through him. There was no stopping it, not now. He wanted her, he _needed_ her. _ _

__Nessa felt a strange crackle of energy in the air, as if someone was casting a chain lightning spell. Sarevok’s eyes were burning more furiously than she had ever seen before, something she said had clearly affected him._ _

__He took a few hesitant steps closer to her. The tingling feeling on her skin grew stronger as her came near to her, she could _feel_ his proximity. She always felt nervous when she was too close to him, there was something strangely magnetic and it disturbed her. Was it the taint? It seemed so, judging from the blood pulsating in her ears. _ _

__Sarevok unbuckled his blood-caked breastplate and threw it onto the couch behind him. His muscular chest and shoulders strained against his well-worn doublet. Apprehension gripped Nessa, what was he doing? She could feel the answer in the warmth that was growing between her thighs._ _

__“Sarevok…” she whispered again. Time seemed to slow as he scanned hungrily over her body, his breath quickening and his thick lips parting slightly. He stepped closer, he was standing before her, she could feel the heat radiating off of him and smell the strong scent that was a mixture of Sarevok’s sweat, his blood, and the blood of his victims. It was intoxicating._ _

___This is wrong...what am I doing…_ her mind protested but her body was already responding to him. _ _

__She didn’t move her eyes from his as he bent down closer to her. Her skin jumped when his hands slid under her back and behind her knees. With one swift movement he lifted her into his arms, as if she were weightless, and swiftly carried her across the room to the bed._ _

__He gently lowered her to the mattress and a surge of adrenaline raced through him as she laid back against the pillows. Her hair spilling across the sheets, the faint pink of her nipples visible through the thin fabric of her underclothes, the flush of red in her cheeks. “Nessa…” he murmured, his voice deep and thick with desire._ _

__Nessa watched as Sarevok pulled off the last pieces of his armor. He quickly ripped off his doublet to reveal a broad, light brown chest that was covered in tattoos. Her eyes roved over his muscular torso, impossibly, he seemed even larger without clothing or armor on. She shuddered as he climbed onto the bed and slid a warm, calloused hand over her the inside of her calf. He crept forward on his knees and his hand continued to travel up the inside of her leg to her upper thigh._ _

__She wanted to stop herself. This was always her weakness, she hated being alone. Haer’Dalis leaving her was a deep wound, a profound betrayal, the pain was nearly overwhelming. She didn’t have the strength to deny herself, to tell Sarevok to leave, to struggle against the divine essence in her veins that responded so strongly to Sarevok’s touch._ _

__His hands slid around the outside of her thighs and up to the fullness of her hips._ _

__She gasped as he gripped her flesh, he slid himself forward between her legs and pulled her closer to him. His eyes were ablaze, he looked more like a god than a human._ _

__“Sarevok...we can’t do this…” she murmured as he moved his hands up to either side of her head._ _

__“We can do whatever we wish,” he rumbled as he lowered himself on top of her. His face hovered above hers, his eyes burning, his breath hot against her skin. Her last shred of will snapped and she flung her arms around his neck. Her hands roamed over his shaved head and broad shoulders. The feel of her hands on his skin sent shockwaves of desire through him, he had imagined this moment more times than he would have liked to admit. He pressed his mouth against hers hungrily, his forceful kiss eliciting a moan of approval. His tongue filled her mouth, she could feel his arousal pressing against her._ _

__She broke the kiss and looked up at him with hooded, unfocused eyes. “Is this what you want?” she whispered._ _

__Sarevok looked down at her and gazed over her bare body. The scars on her thighs he had seen before, there were more scattered across her torso. He had never wanted anything more, the tortures of the Abyss were worth it if they brought him to this moment, to this place, with her._ _

__“I have wanted you since I first met you.” His voice sent chills down her spine._ _

__She leaned forward to press a soft kiss against his chest. His skin dotted with goosebumps in response to her touch._ _

__He slid his hands back under her and lifted her up to bring her against his torso. She wrapped her legs around him and he ripped at the underclothes that covered her. After a few more passionate kisses she pulled away from him and lowered herself back against the pillows. Her small breasts were covered in faint white scars, her sex hairless and also littered with a few thin scars. He struggled to take off his trousers, his erection was straining against the fabric._ _

__He flung his pants to the floor and moved forward towards her, both of their breaths coming quick and hard. He traced a finger over the scars over her pubic bone and she stifled a moan in response. Irenicus’ work, surely, it was good for him that he was already dead._ _

__He slid down further and his erection pulsed as his fingers met warm, slick wetness. He wanted to taste her, but there was no room for foreplay, not today. She reached a hand forward, hesitantly, and wrapped it around his shaft. His hips bucked in response._ _

__“Easy,” he groaned._ _

__She continued to work her hand over him, her soft fingers caressing the sensitive head of his erection and sliding back down the length, eliciting an approving moan._ _

__He pulled away from her and grabbed for her hips. There was no more waiting, no more teasing. He wanted her _now_._ _

__His golden eyes burned into hers, he paused as he held her against him, the heat of his arousal pressing at her wetness. She looked up at him hungrily and pressed herself against him, sinking the head of his erection into her. He shuddered and his hips involuntarily jerked forward to press his full length into her tight, wet warmth._ _

__“Gods, Nessa,” he moaned as his hips ground against hers. She wrapped her legs around him as they moved against one another. His skin was salty with sweat, she pressed kisses against his lips and his tongue hungrily slipped into her mouth. The pace quickened, she felt her orgasm building as he thrust into her harder and harder. Her nails dug into his back as the wave of pleasure began to break, she shuddered as an intense orgasm ripped through her. The sensation of her clenching and pulsating around him was more than he could take. His orgasm came quickly, his eyes blinded as his fingers gripped hard at the flesh of her hips. Another wave of pleasure built, she could feel his climax and it made her want him even more. She threw her head back and he thrusted into her and brought her to a second, even stronger orgasm._ _

__Sarevok loosened his grasp and pulled out of her. He was covered in rivulets of sweat and his arms shook as he lowered himself to lay beside her._ _

__

__

__The haze of desire faded and Nessa felt the cold realization of what had just happened begin to hit her. The same bed she shared with Haer’Dalis, the same bed they had made love in mere nights before, now she was in it with Sarevok._ _

__She didn’t love Sarevok, she cared about him but whatever had come over her was something different. The taint wanted him, she could feel it every time she was near him. Haer’Dalis noticed it, a rush of shame raced through her as she remembered vehemently denying any interest in Sarevok. What would he think of her now?_ _

__Sarevok’s breaths slowed and became rhythmic. She glanced over and saw that he had already fallen asleep. He _was_ exhausted, and she was honestly relieved that they could avoid any awkward conversation, for a while at least._ _

__Was this all part of his plan? Was he going to try to use this against her? Blackmail her? Her stomach sank, how could she have been so foolish?_ _

__Nessa closed her eyes and sleep came over her quickly. She didn’t wake when Sarevok slid out of her bed and quietly pulled his clothing back on. He padded gently across the floor, pausing with each creak of the floorboards, and grabbed his armor. A few moments later he was gone._ _

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Surpriiiiiiise! The love sort-of triangle that I never wanted! I kept the chapter short, hopefully not too short. I hope you liked it, I was very nervous to write a sex scene. Way more awkward, for me, than I had anticipated.


	9. Alone

Nessa finished fastening her robes and strapping on her weapons. A gentle hum of anticipation danced through her as she gathered up the last of her belongings and stuffed them into her bag of holding. This...all of this was going to end. There would be no more delays, no more interruptions.

She had awoken alone in the bright light of the afternoon sun and for a few moments had forgotten what transpired only hours before. The soreness of her pelvis reminded her, the bruises on her hips and the taste of salt still lingering on her lips. She pressed a hand to her forehead and tried to calm herself.

It wasn’t the first time she had casual sex, meaningless physical pleasure was an easy distraction from the darkness that dwelled within her. Elven girls got plenty of attention from men, and women, it was simple enough to find a momentary diversion. But this was different, this wasn’t about sex or a bit of fun, the _taint_ had compelled her. It wanted Sarevok, she had no idea why, but the pain of Haer’Dalis’ sudden departure had left her open to being manipulated. Was it the same for Sarevok? Did some shred of Bhaal’s essence affect him as well?

The whispers were growing louder, she could feel Bhaal within her, every sibling that she struck down increased his power. She was an unwilling vessel for him, and that knowledge nearly drove her mad with rage.

She had lost herself once before, when Irenicus took her soul from her. She was vulnerable then, too, the Slayer had easily overwhelmed her and before she could even struggle against it she was a trapped observer in her own body.

She had to watch as her clawed hands thrashed through the air, she saw the confusion and horror in her friends’ faces, their hesitation to fight against her. It was the reason Haer’Dalis was so different in the Underdark, why he was engulfed in an impenetrable cloud of foreboding about what was to come. She _killed_ him. The Slayer lunged towards him, the razor-sharp claws sliced across his chest and shredded his armor like it was paper. She screamed, she tried to stop herself, but she couldn’t do anything. The claws were glistening with blood, Haer’Dalis’ blood, he slumped down to the floor and she knew he was gone.

Valygar managed to distract the Slayer and lure it through the labyrinth until the change finally subsided. Nessa ran, screaming, back to the place where her lover fell. Jaheira had already resurrected Haer’Dalis and begun working her healing magic on him. He gave her his usual smile, but his eyes couldn’t hide his true feelings. Shock, concern, _fear_. The wounds healed. The scars, however, were a constant reminder of what her divine heritage could drive her to do.

She wasn’t going to hurt the people she cared about anymore. She wasn’t going to give Sarevok the opportunity to use what had just happened between them against her. No more tears, no more games. She had a prophecy to fulfill.

Nessa took a deep breath and steeled herself for what was to come. She would either be victorious, or should would die, whatever end was in store for her would be a release from the chains of her divine blood. There was no way she could explain what had happened between her and Sarevok to Imoen or Jaheira, she couldn’t bear to think of how disappointed they would be in her. Could Haer’Dalis forgive her? Would he even care?

It didn’t matter, not now. In a moment she was gone.

 

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“So, what exactly are we going to do with her?” Imoen was eyeing the petite blonde girl, she vaguely remembered her from their encounter with the Harpers. She had awoken that morning to find Jaheira slumped over in an armchair and Poppy snoring steadily in Jaheira’s bed.

“Your sister will have to decide.” Jaheira winced as she stretched out her sore back.

“Pssh, good luck with that, don’t you remember what happened after Safana left her for Coran? She was locked up for _days_!” Imoen grabbed a glass of water from a small end table and chugged it down in a few gulps.

Jaheira sighed and shook her head. It was true, Nessa was inconsolable after that silver-tongued harlot Safana had unceremoniously cut off their relationship and left the group with Coran in tow. In the middle of Cloakwood, mind you, at quite possibly the worst time. Once they returned to town Nessa had immediately gone to the nearest inn and drank herself senseless, then locked herself in a room for three days.

“I am standing here, you know,” Poppy piped up, “I can hear you talking about me.”

Jaheira and Imoen both turned to glare at the girl. She quickly put her head down and avoided their gaze.

“Well, I’m starving, let’s get some food and maybe Valygar will have some ideas about how to cheer Nessa up.” Imoen extended her arms over her head and let out a long yawn. The beds at this poor excuse for an inn weren’t the best for getting a restful night’s sleep.

“Valygar? Cheer up?” Jaheira snorted. “We may as well ask Nessa for advice on choosing a mate.”

“Ooooh, ouch,” Imoen winced, “too soon.”

Jaheira shrugged and grabbed for a tunic to throw over her thin undershirt. She motioned for Poppy and the girl awkwardly stumbled over a pair of boots as she hurried to follow the druid. The girls quickly dressed and descended the rickety staircase to the main room below.

It was the late morning and most of the inn’s guests had already finished their breakfast. Valygar was seated at a table and gave them a curious look when he caught sight of them.

“Sleep well?” he asked as they approached. He glanced back and forth between Jaheira and Poppy. “I don’t understand, how…?”

“Sarevok slaughtered the others and apparently had some crisis of conscience and decided to spare the girl.” Jaheira dropped into a chair and let out a huge yawn.

“He brought her all this way?” Valygar’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “That’s...unexpected.”

“No kidding, where is he anyways?” Imoen asked. “Still sleeping?”

“No,” Valygar replied and shook his head. “He left a little while ago, said he needed some time to himself.”

“Well lucky him, meanwhile he sticks us with the new girl,” Imoen groaned. She pointed to a half-eaten plate of food on the table. “You gonna finish that?”

Valygar shook his head and slid it towards her. “Something got under his skin, or someone.” He gave Jaheira a side glance, but the druid’s face was stony.

“Don’t look at me, I only spoke with him for a few moments and then he retired to his room, _your_ room.”

Valygar shrugged. “I didn’t hear him come in, and when I woke up he was already gone.”

“Who knows,” Imoen said between bites, “he’s so pushy he probably tried to talk to Nessa.”

Jaheira nodded and pulled over a basket filled with bread. “Yes, I warned him,” she said as she she poked at a piece of it and was disappointed to find that it was already stale. “He insisted that he would speak with her this morning.”

“Ha!” Imoen laughed. “I did that in Beregost, too, thought I could give her some tough love and get her out of her pity-party but wow, was that a bad idea.” She slurped down a fried egg and struggled to bite off a piece of hard bread. “Let’s just say I’m glad the Slayer hadn’t shown up yet, or else I’d have been little ribbons on the floor of the Jovial Juggler.”

Poppy’s face blanched. Imoen noticed it and gave her a mischievous grin. “I’m kidding, she wouldn’t kill me.” She hesitated and cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. “Intentionally.”

The group fell silent and Poppy caught herself stealing glances at the ranger. _Valygar…_ He was handsome and had kind eyes, he didn’t seem like the sort who would be traveling with a man like Sarevok. She wasn’t sure about Imoen and Jaheira, there was something strange about the pink-haired girl, it made her nervous. Jaheira was nice enough, but she was rather grumpy. She said nothing as the two women picked through the leftovers.

Imoen noticed the girl shifting uncomfortably and pointed at the food. “Dig in, silly.” She shoved a plate towards her and set back to devouring her own breakfast.

Poppy didn’t _feel_ hungry, but the smell of food made her stomach begin to growl. Her sudden hunger overcame her nervousness and she quickly scarfed down the rubbery eggs and days-old bread.

Valygar watched her with a bemused expression. “You must be hungry,” he said quietly. His voice was deep and soft, it was surprisingly soothing for someone who looked so battle-hardened.

Poppy nodded and choked down the last bit of hard bread. “We didn’t have any provisions, he...Sarevok...he didn’t stop, either.” She blushed when she said his name.

Valygar’s thick eyebrows raised in surprise. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and let out a short laugh. “I see the man has made an impression on you.” He paused to smirk at the blush that was growing up towards her ears. “You are fortunate to be alive.”

Poppy’s stomach sank. Memories of the others...the crack of bones...the screams, oh gods, the screams. Her face turned chalk white and she felt the sudden urge to vomit.

“Valgyar,” Jaheira hissed disapprovingly. “Leave the girl be, hasn’t she been through enough?”

Valygar face darkened and he opened his mouth to protest but Poppy interrupted him. “It’s ok,” she said, her girlish voice sounding quite silly compared to theirs. “He’s right, I am lucky.” She paused to take a deep breath. “I didn’t know they were planning on killing him, I swear!”

Imoen and Jaheira exchanged glances. “Poppy,” Imoen said as she leaned towards the girl and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just how much do you know about Sarevok?”

“Well,” Poppy began, “he was responsible for nearly starting a war with Amn, and I thought...well...he was slain by Nessa of Candlekeep...”

“Nope, that was me,” Imoen interrupted. She grinned wide at Poppy’s surprise.

“But then...how...how can you be...with him…” Poppy stuttered.

“You know, I would be wondering the _same_ thing if I were you, it’s a pretty weird story, actually…” Imoen proceeded to share an abbreviated version of the events leading up to and immediately following Sarevok’s resurrection.

“No, no, that can’t be right,” Poppy protested. “Dermin told us that he had information on Sarevok, that Nessa had performed dark rituals to resurrect him as her high priest and champion, he said she had ‘fallen to his foul influence’ or something like that…” Her thin brows creased in confusion. “Why would Dermin lie to us?”

Jaheira’s face grew troubled. “Indeed,” she murmured. _Dermin…_

“Why didn’t you try to take Nessa, too?” Imoen asked, “or me?” She glanced at Poppy with clear blue eyes that seemed friendly enough on the exterior, but there was something dark behind them.

“He said we didn’t have enough information on Nessa, but Sarevok had to be stopped, immediately.”

“Is that normal for the Harpers?” Imoen turned towards Jaheira. “It seems weird to me.”

Jaheira shook her head.

“You were the bait,” Valygar interrupted. Imoen and Poppy looked at him, surprised, but Jaheira’s face only grew more dark.

“W-what do you mean,” Poppy stuttered.

“Someone’s got it in for Sarevok, and Nessa too, so they sent you to capture him, knowing full well that it would likely end in bloodshed.” The ranger sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Politics,” he grumbled.

“Jaheira?” Imoen demanded, “you knew something about this, is he right?”

“It could be,” the druid replied, her voice cool and calm but her face troubled. “Dermin is an ambitious man, too ambition in my opinion, he is often blinded by his overzealousness.” She shook her head and let out a short sigh. “Perhaps there is some disagreement between Dermin and Bernard.”

“He sent Celitha to lead us at the last minute, the others said Bernard went half-mad he was so angry,” Poppy said.

“Of course,” Jaheira muttered, her almond eyes narrowing. “That snake of a man, killing two birds with one stone…”

“Huh?” Imoen asked.

“He sends Bernard’s right hand and some unseasoned recruits to capture Sarevok, knowing full well that they will fail, but his hope is that he can both weaken Bernard’s influence and incriminate Nessa.” Jaheira’s lips tightened in a thin line. “That bastard.”

“What about you, then, aren’t you a Harper, too?” Imoen gave Jaheira a guarded look.

Jaheira nodded. “I know...certain information about Dermin, we have had our disagreements in the past, but I never thought it would come to...this.”

“Wow….” Imoen let out a low whistle. “If you’re right, that’s pretty messed up.”

“Yes, it is,” Jaheira agreed. “I have had my doubts about Dermin’s leadership, but this...this is unthinkable.”

Poppy looked like she was going to be ill. Imoen scooted her chair closer to her and wrapped a slender arm around the girl’s shoulders. It was a distant memory, but she could remember being young and naive about the world once, too. Before Sarevok, before Irenicus, before she knew she was a Bhaalspawn. Tears welled up in Poppy’s eyes and she fought to keep them from rolling down her face.

“There, there, child,” Jaheira said and grabbed for a napkin to hand to the girl. “You are safe with us, disregard Dermin’s lies about Nessa, she will see to it that you are cared for.”

“Yeah, he was actually kinda right about Sarevok and look, he didn’t even kill you!” Imoen added cheerfully. “Oh...uh...I meant that in the best way,” she stammered apologetically as Jaheira shot her a poisonous glare.

Their conversation was interrupted by sound of heavy footsteps at the entrance of the tavern. Sarevok had returned, but from the looks of it his ‘private business’ hadn’t gone well. His lips were turned down in a more sour scowl than usual and his heavy brows were creased. He caught sight of Imoen comforting Poppy and his face darkened even further.

“Speak of the devil,” Imoen chirped cheekily.

Sarevok marched past their table without so much as acknowledging their presence. He had no use for them, not now. He had left Nessa’s room early in the morning, the taste of her still on his lips and his skin burning with the memory of her touch. He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to take her again and again, he wanted her to be his and his alone. The sudden rush of emotion overwhelmed him, it went further than mere possession, he wanted her to want him. To need him. He had run out of the tavern, he had brushed off Valygar’s questions, he fled to find some moments of isolation to try to gather his thoughts.

Instead, he found him mind drifting back to her, to her eyes hazy with desire, to the gentle sounds she made as he brought her to heights of pleasure. Her scarred skin beneath his hands, her silken hair between his fingers.

What of his plans? His momentary weakness would certainly hamper his efforts to influence her, but he didn’t care about that. He was more worried that his lapse in judgment would cost him Nessa, that she would panic and reject him outright. Certainly Imoen and Jaheira would never tolerate a relationship between them, not that he cared but unfortunately Nessa was greatly concerned with their opinion.

He had to go back, he had to speak with her. He had already spent hours wandering the rocky wasteland surrounding Amkethran. Hopefully it was not too late.

Sarevok stormed up the stairs and down the hallway to her room. He pounded on the door and waited, but he could hear no movement inside the room.

“Still sleeping,” he muttered half under his breath and knocked again. He paused and strained to hear a sound, but there was only silence.

“Open the door,” he growled through the thick wood. A knot of apprehension began to grow in his gut. “Nessa!”

A surge of anger ran through him and he charged forwards towards the door and slammed his massive shoulder against it. Wood splintered and cracked as the door swung open.

The room was empty. Sarevok stood in the doorway, his mind reeling. Shock turned into rage and he whipped around to storm back down the hallway and staircase to the room below.

“ **You!** ” he roared as he marched towards the table where the others sat. Their heads jerked up in surprise. Sarevok’s eyes were burning with a bright golden fire, his fists were clenched and the veins were bulging out of his thick neck. He surged up to Valygar and in one swift motion grabbed him by the throat and threw him backwards out of his chair and onto the tavern floor.

The other patrons in the mostly-empty room quickly fled their chairs, and the bartender ducked down behind the bar.

“You let her leave!” Sarevok snarled as he rushed towards where the ranger fell. Imoen jumped up to defend Valygar but Jaheira grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“What are you talking about!” Valygar groaned as he lifted himself back onto his elbows. “I let who leave?”

“Don’t play games with me, ranger.” Sarevok stood over Valygar, he struggled against the urge to kill him on the spot.

“Nessa?” Jaheira gasped. Her grip on Imoen’s arm tightened.

Valygar met Sarevok’s stare but said nothing. The warrior’s face darkened and he stooped forward to grab Valygar by the chest piece of his leather armor.

“Tell me!” he demanded, “where has she gone?”

Valygar’s eyes narrowed and he ripped Sarevok’s hands off of him. “I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, a warning in his low voice.

Sarevok’s eyes opened wide in surprise and he took a step back from the ranger.

“What do you mean, where has she gone?!” Imoen cried. She pulled herself out of Jaheira’s grasp and jumped out of her chair to run up the stairs. Her heart pounded in her chest as she charged into Nessa’s room.

“No, no, no,” she gasped as she looked around the room. If she could have magically summoned Haer’Dalis, she would have ripped his heart out with her bare hands.

Downstairs Jaheira was gazing icily at Sarevok. A silence fell between the three, and Poppy shifted awkwardly in her seat.

“What did you do to her?” Jaheira half-whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“Nothing that is any of your business, woman,” Sarevok hissed. “I spoke with her this morning, she was here when I left.”

Imoen rushed back down the stairs and towards the others.

“She’s gone to fight Abazigal, I know it,” she said between heavy breaths. “I don’t know how, but I just know.”

“Alone?” That is suici--,” Jaheira began, but her voice caught.

Imoen held out of a piece of badly burned paper. “This is a piece of Haer’Dalis’ journal, I recognize his handwriting.” She paused to fight back tears. “He must have given it to her, before he left, and she….she burned it.”

“We have to find her,” Valygar said as he lifted himself back onto his feet. “Quickly.”

“It is a day’s journey through the mountains to his lair, she has at most a three hour start on us.” Sarevok turned to face Valygar. “You will track her.”

“You do not give the orders here in Nessa’s absence, abomination,” Jaheira snapped, “I would not be surprised if it is you who are responsible for her disappearance.”

“How dare you--” Sarevok began.

“Shut up!” Imoen screamed, startling her companions and the few patrons left in the room. Her face was flushed and her eyes were opened wide. “I’ll be giving the orders now, until we find Nessa, and if something happens to her I swear to the gods I’ll….I’ll _kill_ someone!”

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Nessa used the pocket plane to transport herself to the outskirts of Amkethran. She had gathered what scrolls and potions she had, plus a couple wands and extra trinkets. It was already growing hot outside, the sun’s piercing rays were becoming more and more oppressive by the minute.

Alone with her thoughts, she found herself preoccupied with memories of Haer’Dalis. The first moment they met, the dazed expression on his face as he counted singular grains of rice, the dreamy tone of his soft, deep voice. His broad smile once he was freed from his geas, the lightness of his steps and the graceful, cat-like way he moved through the crowded streets of Athkatla. The childlike wonder in his eyes at every new sight, the way he savoured every moment, the way he appreciated her. He marvelled at her in the same way he marvelled at the open skies of Toril.

It mystified her, how could a Doomguard be so alive? It took her awhile to even begin to understand his strange philosophy, it seemed so morbid and defeatist. Almost like a kind of death cult, hellbent on destruction. She assumed that was what he found most intriguing about her, what could be more attractive to a Doomguard than a child of a dead god of murder? Especially one destined to carve a path of destruction through the lands.

It was all he wanted, and it was all Sarevok wanted, too. She pushed forward, her steps quickening over the rocky terrain.

Nessa told herself this to protect herself from the possibility that Haer’Dalis really did love her, and left her anyways. The possibility that Sarevok, too, could want her for something more than what he gained through her. It was dangerous for her, to be loved.

Long hours passed as she wove her way through the mountains leading to Abazigal’s lair. It was nightfall by the time she reached a cavernous opening into a mountainside, her footsteps echoed across the intricately paved entrance into the emptiness.

A figure materialized out of the blackness of the cave, a deep voice boomed as she approached.

“Who dare disturbs Draconis? More pestering emissaries from the cloistered monastery?”

Nessa stepped forward and could see the faint outline of a tall, tanned human. She could sense something strange about him, similar to when she was near a Bhaalspawn, only weaker.

“No, it seems I am wrong,” the voice continued. It paused to sniff loudly. “I smell the taint of Bhaal on you.”

The man stepped out into the bright moonlight and she could see he was quite tall, his hair was dark and closely cropped to his head. He was handsome, in a Calimshani sort of way, but his eyes were a surprisingly un-Calimshani electric shade of blue. His expression was both contemptuous and disinterested.

“My father warned me of you, Nessa,” he hissed and his eyes narrowed. “The Bhaalspawn kin who would steal his destiny. And my birthright!”

Nessa hastily cast spell protections on herself as Draconis began to shift. He was truly massive, a great brown dragon that loomed menacingly over her. She felt the power in her blood begin to pump through her, except this time she didn't fight it, she let it flow through her and out of her fingertips as she wove a time stop spell.

She began casting spell after spell in a well-coordinated frenzy, each lowering the dragons defenses and hammering him with a barrage of magic. When time returned to normal the dragon reeled backwards, dazed and bloodied. Nessa ripped out her swords and rushed towards him, she set upon him with a flurry of blows. Her stoneskin protected her from his sharp claws as he raked them across her again and again, she could tell he was weakening and she felt adrenaline surge through her.

She leaped towards him and plunged one of her swords straight through the scales on his breast, they slid into the beast’s chest and she felt him shudder as she struggled to rip the blade through his flesh. Blood gushed out of the wound and onto the cold stone floor, she jumped backwards as the dragon began to weave sideways, his legs shaking as he struggled to keep himself standing.

“No...no...it cannot be…” the dragon cried as his legs buckled. Nessa stood before him, her face splattered with blood and her chest heaving with heavy breaths. She took a few steps closer to him and dropped one of her swords to the ground. The other she took in both hands and raised over her head. With one swift motion she sliced forward and cleaved the dragon’s head from his neck.

A dragon, dead. She, Nessa of Candlekeep, had slain a dragon. She didn’t know whether to feel proud of herself or terrified. She had let the taint fuel her magic, she could hear his voice in her mind and could feel his approval humming in her as she reached to grasp Draconis’ bloodied head.

_I am pleased, my daughter._

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

“No, she went this way,” Poppy said firmly. She pointed at a spot on the ground where she could clearly see disturbed stones and dirt.

Valygar’s face fell in frown and he shook his head. “I don’t see it.”

“What authority do you have, girl?” Jaheira demanded. The druid’s mood had grown increasingly foul as they marched through the hot, craggy mountainside.

“My papa took me on hunting expeditions in the Cloud Peaks, it’s where I learned how to track.” The girl bent down and touched the stones and glanced ahead to further down the path. “I know she went this way, I’m sure of it.”

Valygar sighed and rubbed his sore temples. “I’ll admit, I’m not used to tracking in terrain like this.” He glanced over at Imoen. “We may as well listen to what she says.”

Poppy blushed. She was fairly confident in her skills, but certainly didn’t anticipate being in this sort of company, tracking one of the most powerful Bhaalspawn. She wasn’t going to let them down.

Sarevok watched the girl carefully as she flitted down the path, her movements light and her eyes scanning attentively for signs of Nessa. Maybe it was fortunate for him that he had let her live, after all. Nessa...his fists clenched as he thought of her. What the hell was she thinking, going on alone? He knew she was strong-willed, but this was sheer suicide! If something happened to her, if she died before they could reach her, surely he would perish as well. Was their momentary dalliance so...repugnant, to her? That she would be willing to throw her life away? He cursed her, he cursed himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret what had happened between them. More, he regretted pushing her towards claiming her birthright. His plans seemed so hollow in the light of the possibility of her death.

The group marched on through the rocky mountainside, the silence broken only by Poppy’s infrequent directions and the cry of the few birds that circled above them. The day slowly turned to night and they crossed a narrow mountain pass that opened to a cavernous entrance into the mountainside.

“The track ends here, I guess she went….in there,” Poppy stammered as she pointed at the foreboding cave entrance.

Imoen gasped. “Do you see that?”

A wave of shock and surprise ran through the group. Before them, lying in a pool of its own blood, was an enormous, headless dragon.

“Glorious,” Sarevok murmured under his breath. He knew Nessa was powerful, but this...this was beyond his wildest expectations.

“It cannot be,” Jaheira sputtered. “She cannot...how could…”

“She used the taint.” Imoen’s face was emotionless as she walked up to the dragon and inspected its severed neck.

“One blow, clean through.” Valygar’s said from behind her. Imoen turned and looked up at him, unable to hide the fear in her eyes.

“We have to find her Valygar, before….” her voice trailed off and she glanced over Valygar’s shoulder at Sarevok. “Before it’s too late.”

Sarevok frowned. He knew what she meant, there was a price to pay for tapping into Bhaal’s divine power.

“Come on,” Imoen said, and waved for the others to follow her as she hurriedly rushed towards the entrance to Abazigal’s lair.

\----------------------------

 

Nessa wiped away the blood that had begun trailing from the corner of her mouth. The mad mage Icyanth was dead, she clutched the scroll she looted off of his corpse in her trembling hand. She was out of spells, halfway through her potions and had depleted a number of her wands. The cool water of the pool washed the blood and grime off of her, the sensation of breathing underwater was still somewhat unnerving but the journey through the tunnels was a welcome reprieve. Finally, she was reaching the end of this wretched labyrinthine lair.

She hastened to reach Fil’Yissetat, the beast’s eyes were burning with wrath and agony as she quickly recited the scroll of reversal. The great green dragon shuddered as the spell’s grasp on her was loosened, she shook her scaled head and stretched out her massive wings.

“Here, godchild, take the wardstone, it will gain you access to Abazigal’s inner sanctum,” the dragon bellowed as she flung a large stone at Nessa’s feet. “I will not remain in this place any longer.” In a flurry of wings and smoke the dragon rose off of the ground and plummeted down the black chasm behind her.

Nessa bent over to pick up the stone, it was heavy and marked with various strange symbols. She recognized them as draconic, but could not read what they said, her studies in the language were unfortunately only rudimentary. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her blood pulsating in her ears. She knew she should rest, she knew she needed to prepare for this battle but the whispers in her mind told her to press on.

_Slay him, child, he is weak, he is not worthy of his heritage._

She struggled to fight against the taint within her. The pain of rejection mixed with the heat of Sarevok’s kiss, each step she took drew her closer to Abazigal, she could sense his presence and her pulse quickened. He wasn’t worthy, none of them were, only she deserved the power that was bestowed upon them. The whispers grew louder, the cries of the fallen echoed in her ears.

She pushed the massive doors of the great hall open with one swift movement. Her footsteps felt heavier, her limbs longer, Abazigal turned to face her and she relished the fear that flashed across his hideous blue face.

“I am become death,” Nessa roared with a voice that was not her own. Her limbs began to twist and lengthen, the room seemed to shrink as she surged forward towards the half-dragon.

“How is this possible?” Abazigal cried as he stumbled backwards. Nessa didn’t hear him, she couldn’t hear anything, not now. She watched as the Ravager ripped into the blue dragon, shrugging off his breath attacks and shredding through the scaly armor as if it were bare skin. Blood splashed across her smooth, red gnarled limbs, her heavy head swung back and forth as her enormous fanged mouth tore at the dragon’s flesh.

It was beautiful.

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

The group raced through Abazigal’s lair. There were corpses littered everywhere, they progressed quickly through the maze of pools until they reached a cavernous, empty room.

“She is here,” Sarevok murmured, his eyes distant. He could sense Nessa’s nearness, but it was different. Something was...wrong.

In a shadowed corner they could see a pair of enormous double doors swung wide open. A gutteral shriek broke through the silence of the cavern.

“Nooooooo, this cannot be,” it cried. It was the sounds that came afterwards that made their blood run cold.

Demonic, hideous screams and snarling followed by wet thuds and the cracking of bones.

“Gods, no,” Imoen whispered, “not...not again.” She remembered the Slayer, it was a creature of nightmares, a mindless beast that overcame Nessa and turned her into murder incarnate.

Sarevok reached out his arms and motioned for the others to stop. He held a finger to his lips, they had to be sure not to attract its attention.

The sickening, wet sounds continued, but after a few, long minutes they slowed to a stop. The room fell silent. Loud sniffs rang out through the cavern, Imoen felt her skin prickling with fear. Reflexively, she reached for Jaheira’s arm and grasped it tightly. The druid did not pull away, she too was frozen to the spot. Heavy footsteps thudded, racing, circling madly around the far room. It could smell them.

Sarevok glanced back at the pool. It was at least two dozen paces back, but moving would attract attention to them, and there was no guarantee that the Slayer wouldn’t follow them into the water. When he turned back he could see an enormous, shadowed figure standing in the far doorway.

This was not the Slayer. It was the Ravager.

The massive form began to weave back and forth, claws flailing and guttural shrieks erupting from its many-toothed maw. It heaved on its huge feet and slumped forward, its heavy body sending out a shockwave as it hit the ground. Several long moments passed until it finally began to shrink, Imoen went to race forward but Jaheira pulled her back.

They waited until they could hear Nessa coughing and sputtering, her ragged breaths loud in the silence. Sarevok was the first one to reach her, his long legs unencumbered by his heavy armor as he sprinted across the stone floor.

“You fool,” he spat through gritted teeth and he knelt by her side. She was covered in blood, it was impossible to tell which was hers and which was Abazigal’s. He could hear the rattling in her lungs, they were filling with fluid.

“Heal her!” he bellowed as Jaheira ran up beside him. She immediately began chanting and laid her hands on Nessa’s bare, blood spattered face. Jaheira shook her head as the healing magic flooded out of her and into Nessa. “It won’t be enough, she is gravely wounded.” She glanced up at Sarevok, her sharp blue eyes filled with concern. “We must take her to a healer.”

Sarevok reached forward and slipped his long arms underneath Nessa’s shoulders and knees. Memories of the previous night raced through him, but the face that was filled with desire was now bruised, bloodied. Her head lolled back against his shoulder as he lifted her up, she was limp, her breaths shallow and irregular.

“You cannot die, I forbid it,” he murmured under his breath. At that moment he didn’t care if he died, he didn’t care if anyone died, anyone but Nessa. She didn’t deserve this, he should have restrained himself, he shouldn’t have pushed her so hard. She gave him his life, his freedom, and what did he give her in return?

He should have never left her alone that morning. His own weakness overwhelmed him, he didn’t consider what it would be like for her, waking up alone, after what had happened.

He should have stayed with her. He should have never let her leave.

He only hoped it wasn’t too late.


	10. Awakenings

My kids dropped naps and I've been struggling with anxiety/depression crap. So, short on time and motivation, finally just said f it and cut this chapter off to get it posted. Thanks for reading, so glad to see so much more activity in the BG realm of AO3!! 

 

Warnings for some thematic mutilation.

 

\----------------------------------

 

Sarevok refused to leave Nessa’s bedside, he had carried her the entire way back to Amkethran. He stripped off the heaviest of his armor and threw his pack to Valygar. Nessa’s rattling, strained breaths harried his steps, he moved with an inhuman speed across the rocky landscape. No one spoke, no one dared to voice the worry that hung about them like a funeral shroud, it seemed impossible that Nessa could survive the journey. 

The burning in Sarevok’s shoulders and neck were nothing compared to the aching in his breast, he wouldn’t allow her to die, he refused. Her soft hair fell over his shoulder, he could feel her cool fingertips brushing against his torso as her limp hand bounced with his steps. The gods be damned, he had cheated death not once, but twice, he would not allow her to be taken from him. 

The Waukeenite cleric at the temple in Amkethran had little experience with grievous injuries, but he did his best to use what healing magics he could on her broken body. 

“She should survive, her body will mend.” The man’s tanned brow was creased with concern. “There is a presence within her...a darkness, it is beyond my reach. I will cast sleeping magics on her, perhaps when she awakens in a day or two you can pursue further treatment.” He held out his hands, his expression placating. “I am sorry, there is nothing more I can do.”

Sarevok could barely restrain himself from killing the cleric on the spot. “Useless,” he muttered under his breath as he reached down to gently lift Nessa from the stone slab in the center of this temple. 

Now he stood over her and watched the steady rise and fall of her bandaged chest. He was exhausted but he refused to allow himself to sleep. The others were reluctant about him staying with her, alone, but the viciousness of his tone and the fire that ignited in his eyes convinced them to leave him be. He had seen their mistrust, their suspicions, but he couldn’t care less, not now. 

So he remained, pacing, sitting, standing in her room. The room they had shared only days ago, the bed where he finally had claimed her, where years of hate and desire culminated in an uncontrollable passion. Now she was in a deep sleep, her lids heavy, her face bruised, her perfect lips split open, freshly healed wounds covering her exposed shoulder. There were more, the cleric had stripped her of her robes and found a body covered in injuries. Broken ribs, a punctured lung, but most of all, she had been affected by the change. It seemed that the shift to the Ravager had done some sort of permanent damage to her, the extent of it was unclear but the troubled look on the cleric’s face worried Sarevok. He could scarcely believe it, the _Ravager_. Bhaal’s most powerful avatar. What had she traded for such power? 

He sat back down in the rickety chair beside her bed and rested his elbows on the mattress next to her. His shaved head hung heavy between his shoulders, he clasped his hands together and let out a long, tired sigh. 

She had been so reckless, so careless, he was furious with her but his mind kept trailing back to the decapitated dragon and the thundering footsteps of the Ravager. Their father’s power was certainly within her grasp, she was clearly the strongest Bhaalspawn and would have no trouble finishing off the other stragglers left on Faerun. It was everything he had ever wanted, it was everything he had wanted for her, but it all felt so hollow, now. If she became Nessa, Lady of Murder, Nessa of Candlekeep would cease to exist. He would have power, he would have the favor of a goddess, but he would not longer have _her_. He had failed his mother, he had failed Tamoko, he would _not_ fail Nessa. For the first time he could finally understand what drove Tamoko to deceive him and sabotage his plans. He only hoped it wasn’t too late. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Nessa stirring in the bed. She winced in pain as she shifted on the mattress, her eyes began to open and she squinted in the darkness of the room. She tried to pull herself up to a seated position and was immediately met with waves of pain radiating through her torso and shoulder. Sarevok’s hand reached out to stop her, she froze when his warm fingertips touched her bare skin.

“You must rest,” he said firmly. She turned her head slightly to look at him, he was taken aback by the anger that burned in her green eyes. 

“Why...did….you come,” she croaked, her mouth dry and her throat raw. 

“You cannot be rid of your pesky sister so easily, Nessa, surely you know this by now,” Sarevok replied brusquely. He averted his eyes to avoid her penetrating stare. 

“Bull...shit.”

Sarevok frowned and glanced back at her with dark eyes. “I will not allow you to kill yourself, Nessa.”

A choked laugh ripped through her lungs, sending her into a fit of ragged coughs. “Of course...not.” Her face grew serious, she turned back to face forward. 

A heavy silence fell between them, the only sound was the faint whistling of Nessa’s half-healed lungs. She refused to look at him, she couldn’t look at him right now. When she was a trapped spectator of the Ravager’s destruction, helplessly watching as her twisted, shapeshifted form began to sway and tumble to the ground, she had prepared herself for death. The blackness that followed was a welcome respite from the pain that tore through her body and her soul. How dare they come for her, how dare _he_ follow her. What was he playing now, bedside nurse? The gall of this man. 

“Why did you leave?” Sarevok rumbled, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. 

“You know why.” Her face was expressionless. 

“I...should not have left you,” Sarevok hesitated. “I did not anticipate what happened between us, I....” He rubbed a thick palm over his dirt-caked face and struggled to find his words. “I...I was overwhelmed, this is not what I am accustomed to.” 

Nessa laughed, her lungs rasping. “Right, it _definitely_ wasn’t part of your plans.” 

“It was not, Nessa,” Sarevok replied quietly. He knew she wouldn’t believe him, but it was the truth. 

“You are so full of _shit_ ,” she hissed, her words escaping between gritted teeth. “This is everything you wanted! You saw what I can become.” She turned to glare at him with dark, glittering eyes. “You saw what I can do.”

“I did.”

“So you’ve kept me alive, you’ve kept _yourself_ alive, now that you’ve seen what I’m capable of I’m sure you’ll be right at my side, whispering in my ear just like _him_!” Nessa’s voice grew louder, her breaths came quicker, Sarevok’s skin prickled at the rage that was building. “Go ahead, tell me all about how you’ll take care of me, how you’ll help me, _go ahead_! I don’t care anymore, I’ll do whatever you want, it’ll all be over soon enough anyways.” She bit her lip, her sharp teeth pressing into the cracks and dried blood that covered them.

Sarevok’s hand darted forward to grab her arm. “Nessa,” he said as his grip on her tightened, “look at me.” She shook her head and turned away from him. He grabbed for her face and pulled it towards him, she did not resist but glowered at him with a threatening glare. “What did you promise him?” 

Her thin lips twitched. “Nothing I wasn’t willing to offer, Sarevok.” 

Sarevok didn’t attempt to hide the emotion that flashed across his face. “Nessa….” he began. His grip on her softened and he leaned closer to her. “I was wrong.” She glanced back at him, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Sarevok took a deep breath and continued. “Your words have plagued me, at first I could not believe them, I would not. Yet, when faced with the prospect of death, your death…” He sighed and shook his head. “I see now what I could not before.” 

Nessa stared at him, her face twisted in a scornful sneer. “Did you hit your head?” 

“Your mistrust is well-placed, Nessa, I do not know myself, without my ambition I…” he paused and pressed his eyes closed. “It is as if I have died, again.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I won’t lose you Nessa, not now.” 

Nessa’s nose wrinkled and she gave him a scathing look. “I wasn’t _yours_ to start with.”

Her words stung him, he drew his hand back and glared at her. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Your vitriol is an empty gesture, I _know_ you felt it, the same as I did.”

“Felt what?” Nessa knew the answer, but she didn’t want to admit it. Not to herself, and certainly not to him.

“The pull that has been between us since the very beginning.” His eyes were shimmering with a faint amber glow. “Since Candlekeep.”

“What? You mean when you tried to frame me for killing your dad? That time? When your doppelganger friends murdered the people I grew up with?” Her eyes grew sharp, her expression poisonous. 

“What do you want, an apology? Would regret change anything?” 

“It might be a good place to start.”

Sarevok sighed and rubbed a thick hand over his broad forehead. “I do not see why this is necessary, but if it what you wish then yes, I regret deceiving you. I did try to protect you, but you would not accept my gift, the ring was meant to help...keep you safe…”

Nessa gave him an incredulous look. “What? You were trying to kill me, remember?”

“It is difficult to explain, I...I knew you stood in my way but I could not kill you, myself, there were many opportunities but I could not bring myself to do it.” His face looked pained. “I still cannot.”

“Not with your hands, anyways,” Nessa replied pointedly. 

“Why must you be so difficult?! I swear on the bitter ashes of our father I did not plan any of this!” Sarevok roared, his cheeks suddenly flushed. “The others said you were mourning the bard, I came to speak with you about Abazigal, it is as simple as that!” 

“How am I supposed to believe you? What kind of fool do you take me for?!” 

“I am here, am I not? Have I not remained by your side?” 

Nessa snorted and leaned back against the propped up pillows behind her back. “What happened between us cannot happen again. Period.”

“It did not seem that unpleasant to you,” Sarevok replied dryly. She tried to ignore the intensity of his gaze, the fire in her veins that came alive whenever she was near him. 

_Bastard._ Nessa flinched and turned her eyes to the fire that crackled at the far end of the room. “You are my half-brother, Sarevok, what we share is an evil, twisted father who has pitted us against each other since the very beginning, there is no future for ‘us’ other than misery and death.” 

“We are free to choose our own path.”

“I did not _choose_ what happened, and I don’t believe for a second that you did either, you know it was the taint, even if you don’t want to admit it.” She turned to look at him.

“No Nessa, you are wrong.” Sarevok’s eyes burned brighter, memories of their time together in Candlekeep seemed simultaneously near and distant. Her standing before him beneath Baldur’s Gate, defiance in her voice and inevitability in her expression. The shadow of her that unknowingly summoned him in their father’s realm. His voice took on a sudden husky tone. “I have wanted you from the moment I first met you.”

A surge of desire raced through Nessa but she fought back against it. “No, Sarevok, the _taint_ wanted me, it wanted us, you can’t trade one blindness for another.” 

“This is not blindness, Nessa, I do not want power, I want _you_.” 

“Sarevok...I…”

The hungry look her gave her jumbled her words, she struggled to protest as he rose from his chair and came to sit on the bed beside her. 

“You must rest, your body is broken,” Sarevok’s deep voice rumbled as he leaned over her. She could feel his hot breath on her skin, her body trembled involuntarily at his nearness. His scent was intoxicating, she wanted to taste him again. He stopped a hair’s breadth away from her face, his lips brushed gently against hers. “When you are healed, you are _mine_.”

He paused and gave her a faint grin. “For now, sleep.” 

She watched as he straightened back up and turned from her, his long legs illuminated against the bright fire burning in the hearth on the far wall. He lowered himself onto one of the threadbare couches and within a few minutes she could hear the steady breaths of a deep sleep. 

Nessa tugged her blankets up around her neck, she winced as her shoulder screamed in protest. Her body was exhausted, her mind as well. In a few short moments she too was fast asleep. 

 

\--------------------------------------

 

_Nessa awoke on a smooth floor carved out of grayish-white rock. She had an immediate sense of wrongness, she quickly jumped up to her feet and surveyed her surroundings. The very air seemed dead, the space was tomb-like in its silence and blankness. She hurried down the long, narrow hallway, it had solid walls and no doors. There was a room at the end of it, her silent footsteps drew her closer and closer, muffled voices echoed along the corridor._

_No one turned as she entered the room, no one seemed to notice her presence. It was a large room, mostly empty, with a row of racks lined up against the back wall and an anvil in the center. A large forge was on the far wall, she could see the fires were lit._

_A massive cambion stood by the anvil, beside him a smaller, human female with wild hair and leather armor. Nessa glided past them, undetected, and could see that there were two people strung up on the racks. Gray-blue hair on the one, a shock of white on the other._

_“Haer’Dalis,” she gasped. No one heard her, or if they did, they gave no sign. The tiefling was upright, his arms and legs stretched out, suspended on the great rack. His face was calm but she could see beads of sweat on his forehead, he was in terrible pain. The other figure was turned from her, but she could see from the hair and his frame that it must be Roth, Haer’Dalis’ brother. Somehow she knew it was him, she was certain of it._

_There were a number of others standing about, a mixture of tieflings and humans, even a few dwarves._

_The cambion strode forward with thunderous steps, he stretched out his sinewy red arms and beckoned a dwarf towards him. The dwarf grabbed a small tray of knives and darted forward, his short legs carrying him swiftly across the flat, white floor._

_The wild-haired woman followed behind the cambion, she was beautiful but there was a cruelty behind her twinkling eyes and wolfish grin. She stepped forward and approached Haer’Dalis, a single hand reached forward to stroke his cheek._

_“My loyal Doomguard, are you prepared for the ritual?”_

_“Yes,” Haer’Dalis replied. _Gods, how she missed his voice._ His dark eyes were unblinking, but rivulets of sweat began to trail down his temples. He looked so different, there were no earrings in his ears, no braids in his hair, and no...she sucked in a sharp breath. There were no scars, no marks on his cheeks. Nessa had never seen him like this before. _

_“He wishes to use the skin off of his face, Pentar,” the cambion growled. His voice was as one would expect. Deep, intimidating, and with a false friendliness that she recognized from her encounters with others of his kind._

_“Perfect! I am ever more confident in my choice,” Pentar tilted her head to the side and continued to caress Haer’Dalis’ face. “Are you afraid?”_

_“No,” Haer’Dalis replied, his eyes still staring blankly ahead. “I am a servant of entropy, Doomlord Pentar, I do not fear pain. It, as all things, shall pass.”_

_She trailed a finger down his cheek and over his lips. “Excellent, welcome to your new home, Haer’Dalis.” Pentar turned and motioned for the cambion to bring her the tools. He nodded and gave her the knives, then held the tray expectantly._

_Pentar reached forward with a small, thin knife and began to slice into the tiefling’s face. She took long, thin strips of skin from over his cheekbones, her cuts ran along the curve of his bones. He did not flinch, but Nessa could see the sweat dripping down his neck and chest. Pentar placed the two strips of skin on the tray, then turned back and began to make cuts than ran perpendicular to his chin. Nessa felt oddly numb as she watched the flesh be peeled away from his bones. Pentar laid five more strips of skin on the tray, then placed the knives beside them._

_“This should be suitable, Ely,” she said as she nodded at the cambion. He returned to the anvil and Nessa saw that there was a sword laying on it, one that she had not noticed before. It was the Chaos blade, Haer’Dalis’ most prized possession. The same type of sword that his brother had, she remembered. She watched as Ely worked, he took the sword to the forge to heat it, then back to the anvil. Carefully he placed the strips of skin across it and then began to strike it with his great hammer. Two humans stepped forward and began to chant incantations, some sort of binding ritual but Nessa couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. They were binding him to the Doomguard with their spell, somehow they were merging his life with the sword, it was bound to him and he to it._

_She glanced back at Haer’Dalis, concerned, but his expression was vacant. Blood dripped down his face, drops of it fell onto his chest and streaks of sweat and blood streamed down over his bare torso. Why would he do this to himself? Why did he never tell her?_

_Her vision began to fade, she stumbled backwards and tried to catch her balance but could feel herself falling to the hard floor beneath her. The last she could see was the cambion approaching Haer’Dalis, the sword in his massive, clawed hands. Haer’Dalis’ head suddenly snapped up, his eyes darted around the room. They stopped on Nessa as she fell, and she could swear she saw a flash of recognition in them before everything turned black._

 

\--------------------------------------

 

Nessa awoke to a gentle knock at the door. She jerked up and immediately was met with waves of pain through her chest. It took her a moment to figure out where she was, the dream had been so vivid, so _real_. But she was in Amkethran, in the inn, with Sarevok. Nessa quietly crept out of her bed and padded across the bare wooden floors. She gingerly unlocked the door and turned the knob, wincing as the rusty hinges squeaked as she opened it. 

Valygar was standing in the doorway, a plate of food in one hand and a pitcher in the other. His eyebrows arched sharply in surprise. 

“Nessa, I didn’t expect you to be out of bed yet,” he said and shifted awkwardly on his feet. “I...ah...I’m glad to see that you are somewhat recovered. I brought this for Sarevok, I can ask the kitchen about something for you.”

Nessa shook her head and reached for the plate. “He can share, thanks.” She gave Valygar a weak smile and turned to place the food on the small table beside the door. 

“How are you feeling?” the ranger asked. She could see there was more than concern in his dark eyes. 

“Well enough, considering the circumstances,” Nessa replied, struggling to meet Valygar’s piercing stare. “Are the others...is everyone else ok?”

“Yes, your sister worries about you, and Jaheira as well, they’ll be relieved to know you’re awake.”

Nessa gave a small groan and held a hand up to her throbbing head. “I should talk to them, how long have I been asleep?”

“Three days. It was nearly a day’s journey to return to Amkethran, then two days at the inn, here.”

“I’ve been alone in a room with Sarevok for two days?” Nessa’s brows furrowed and she glanced over her shoulder at the warrior who was stretched across a small couch. 

“It was not my choice. Your brother discovered that you were missing, he carried you, unconscious, back through the mountains himself. He refused to leave your side and nearly came to blows with Imoen and me, until Jaheira stepped in.”

“Jaheira?” Nessa replied, her face visibly surprised. “You’re joking.”

“She allowed him to stay with you, I have no idea why.” The ranger paused and gave a short, defeated sigh. “I don’t have any idea about much that is going on lately.”

“I’m sorry, Valygar...I can’t really explain…” Nessa stammered but the ranger raised a hand to interrupt her.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Nessa.” He gave her a half smile and motioned his head towards the staircase. “Your sister, on the other hand...”

 

Nessa winced. Imoen was surely furious with her, and hurt as well. They had grown more distant in the recent months, Nessa’s attention was taken up with the prophecy and her relationship with Haer’Dalis. They hadn’t kept secrets from one another, ever since they were small, and Nessa was terrified to be alone with her sister now. The girl was deceptively air-headed, her cheerful, bubbly exterior hid a cunning mind that always saw through Nessa’s poor attempts at secrecy. If she knew what had happened with Sarevok, she would feel that Nessa had betrayed Gorion, betrayed Haer’Dalis, even betrayed Imoen herself. 

“Get some more rest, I’ll tell the others you are awake but won’t be down until later.” 

Nessa nodded and gave him a weak smile. “Thanks Valygar.” 

The ranger nodded back and turned to walk back down the hallway. Nessa closed the door gently and tiptoed back to her bed. She was still tired, she felt somewhat better but she was certainly not fully recovered. 

It was foolish and impulsive, going out on her own, but it seemed more productive at the time than throwing herself out of a window. How could she explain it to Imoen and Jaheira? How could she ever explain what happened between her and Sarevok? 

Sarevok’s words to her, they were too much for her to process. Nessa had hoped to help him find some peace in his new life, but not in her _bed_. Now he was calling her “mine” and acting like he owned her? 

Then the dream...Haer’Dalis. Those memories were too painful. Shock at his departure turned to denial, then indifference, but now there was a rage that roiled within her. Her whole life had been spent under the thumb of various men, first she was coddled, overprotected by Gorion. Then she was mercilessly hunted by Sarevok and his assassins. Captured and tortured by Irenicus, an errand girl for the Shadow Thieves, and what, now? A convenient, disposable executioner for her father. Even Haer’Dalis left her without more than a moment’s hesitation. What now, was he going to haunt her dreams too? Fuck him, fuck that vision of whatever it was, she didn't ask for it. Wasn't leaving her enough?! Was there _ever_ enough pain?!

How dare _Sarevok_ assume that he could so easily possess her! It didn’t feel like _she_ was drawn to Sarevok, it was the other part of her, the part that protected her when she faced Abazigal, exhausted and out of spells. She allowed it to take control of her, she was too weak to fight against it, and it had granted her power greater than she could have ever imagined. 

Sarevok was a murderer, he had cut her foster father down like he was nothing, he had taken everything from her. Her life, her safety, what family she had known. The pity she had felt for him seemed a distant memory, now there was nothing but resentment and despair. How dare he stay here with her, pretending that he was some sort of hero, the knight in shining armor come to rescue the fair, helpless elven girl. _Bastard._

The mattress was soft and cool against her skin, she didn’t notice the roughness of the cheap linen sheets. Nessa could see him lying there, the light reflected off the glistening skin of his cleanly shaved scalp. How could she have possibly had sex with him, his attractiveness was undeniable but the man was a monster. Even if he could change, what then? What future was there for him, really? He was covered in distinct tattoos, he’d already slaughtered a whole group of Harpers, people had obviously caught wind of his return to the living. What was the point in trying to pursue some sort of sexual relationship with her? She turned the situation over and over again in her mind, desperately trying to decide which nefarious plot rang the most true. Consort? Eventual betrayal? Killing her at the last minute and seizing Bhaal's power for himself? That seemed reasonable.

_I have wanted you from the moment I first met you._

A shiver ran down her spine. She remembered ‘Korevas’, his simple tunic, the clean, bronzed skin of his shaved head, no tattoos, his eyes a clear amber. The deep voice that emanated from the impossibly large man, the half-smirk as he closed a dusty tome in his enormous hands. Hands of a fighter, not a monk. She was immediately suspicious, the few friends left in Candlekeep who had not been killed warned her of his oddly timed appearance and strange demeanor but she could sense it anyways. She could sense him, but she didn’t realize what it was at that point, she had chalked it up to nervousness. Sarevok had offered her a ring, with no explanation whatsoever, and she had swiftly refused. He had snarled some vague insult at her, something about Gorion, and as he walked away she realized who he was. 

It was then that she knew what had happened, and what he had planned. She spared Rieltar’s life but it made no difference, she was framed. She swore to never forgive him for what he had done to her home, to the only family she had ever known. Somehow, in the rush of saving Imoen and defeating Irenicus, she had forgotten. Or maybe, she had wanted to forget. 

There was a connection between them, it was true. She could feel it, and it was difficult to hear Sarevok acknowledge it openly. Was it the fraction of her soul within him? That seemed to merely strengthen it, but it was a bond that existed many years ago, when that arrogant prick first started poking around the books at Candlekeep. She had found him absolutely insufferable, but there was a magnetism, a tug that pulled whenever he would catch her eye. It felt so wrong to even think about it, considering everything that came afterwards, but it was undeniable. She didn't know his true identity, that was what she told herself, that was how she quelled her stinging conscience. 

Nessa willed herself to sleep, in vain she tried to clear her mind of the maelstrom of memories and worries. She tried to rid herself of the comfort that Sarevok's nearness brought to her. He would come to her bed again, he had made his intentions clear, and as she drifted to sleep she tried to convince herself that she would actually turn him away.


	11. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, sort-of! My life has stabilized for the most part after moving, I'm trying to get back into a writing groove but it has been bumpy. This is a darker chapter, I'll update the tags and also add here that there are definite warnings for violence and sexuality. Sarevok is in the picture, how can it not get darker, amirite?

Sharp nails dug into his skin, their points tearing at the flesh of his chest. Nessa was above Sarevok, her pale, toned frame bucking up and down as she rode him. Long ivory thighs clasping at his waist, the muscles of her abdomen rippled with effort, her small breasts bouncing as she slid herself up and down his aching shaft. Her eyes were closed and her hair clung to the sweat that dotted her face and neck. Sarevok gripped her hips, his strong fingers dug into her softness and he pulled her even harder down and buried himself deep within her. Her clit ground against him, he could feel her tightening and suddenly she threw her head back and let out a loud scream of pleasure. Her walls pulsated around his hardness, it took all of the control he had to not lose himself within her. 

Her ragged breathing slowed and she began to lift herself off of him. 

“Not a chance, you are mine,” Sarevok growled and tightened his grip on her hips. 

Nessa’s eyes snapped open. Two burnt orange irises stared at him, the dark lashes around them narrowed. A sinister smile crept across her thin lips. 

“Is that so?” she asked. The girl’s voice was different, smooth, yet eerily hollow. She leaned forward and raked her nails along his tanned, muscular stomach and chest. Her hips began rocking against him again, her eyes burned into his as she wound sensually around him. Nessa’s hands slid up his arms, her mouth pressed against his as he felt her cool fingertips press his wrists against the bed frame. 

“Nessa…” he groaned as she began to ride him harder. 

“Shh,” she whispered. Her tongue licked over his lips. “Give yourself to me.”

Sarevok fought to hold himself back, but she was merciless and continued to pound herself against him. In the haze of pleasure he closed his eyes and didn’t notice the intricate spell she had begun to cast. A strange feeling washed over him, a sort of heaviness in his limbs that grew and spread throughout his body. He knew this sensation, it was an enchantment, he tried to grasp for the dagger beneath his pillow but found himself unable to.

“What…is...this...” His voice barely escaped his lips, his jaw felt locked and his tongue heavy. Within a few short moments he was completely paralyzed. 

“Hold person, of course? You won’t be able to speak anymore, but you _should_ be able to feel everything.” Nessa gave him a chilling grin and lifted herself off of him. “You’ve been quite pleasing, you may die with the knowledge that you bedded a future goddess.” 

She gave a light chuckle as she rose from the bed. “Comforting, I know.”

A large hooded figure approached the bed, Sarevok watched helplessly as Nessa walked towards the figure and lifted herself onto her tiptoes to place a kiss on unseen lips. 

“Why do you hide yourself, my champion?” she purred as she reached up and pulled the hood back, revealing a neatly shaved, tattooed head. It was _him_. He watched, frozen, as his clone and Nessa began to kiss passionately. 

“Mmm.” Nessa licked her lips and lowered herself back down. “Give me the knife, I’m getting restless.” 

The other Sarevok replied with a low rumble of approval and handed a thin ceremonial dagger to Nessa. A bone blade, one Sarevok knew well. He had slit many a throat with such a weapon. Nessa turned back to face him, she strode towards him with confident, slow steps. She was savoring the moment, of course, he would do no less. 

It was insanely erotic to watch Nessa move across the room, her raven hair flowing around her pale, naked flesh, her eyes burning with a bloodlust that only he could understand. She crept up onto the bed and straddled him, the bone blade clutched in one fist and the other reached up to gently caress his chin. She leaned over him and peered into his eyes.

“You won’t enjoy this nearly as much as I will,” she hissed as she slid the blade across his cheek. It drew a small amount of blood and she licked it off with a satisfied smirk. 

The other Sarevok let out a loud, drawn-out sigh. “Haven’t you played long enough?”

“Silence, dog!” she snapped in reply, her lips drawn back in a snarl. “I will do as I choose, and if you open your mouth again you will join this insect in the Abyss!” The other Sarevok’s eyes burned with anger, but his kept his mouth pressed shut. Nessa’s face quickly shifted from rage back to a smug half-grin.

“At least _you_ can’t speak,” she said while tracing the blade delicately over her fingertips. “Although I must admit, I would _so_ enjoy to hear you scream.”

Pain seared through him as she drew the blade over the flesh on his chest, small giggles escaped from Nessa as she sliced him open again and again. The cuts became deeper, blood splattered onto her face and body, he could see the excitement in her eyes. She paused to take in a deep breath, Sarevok’s vision began to blur and his thoughts grew scattered. 

“Ahhh, can you smell it, my love?” She threw her head back and reached out her hands to each side, her bloody palms facing the ceiling. 

“I was instructed to not open my mouth.” The other Sarevok’s face was dark with displeasure. 

“Uggghhhh,” Nessa sighed, her mouth turning down into a frown. “Your ill humour wears on me, _brother_. I hope your dick can at least manage to fuck me with some enthusiasm.” 

“I’m not your slave, woman,” the other Sarevok growled. 

Nessa swung her head around to glare at him. “If you wish to share in my power then you will learn your place, _manling_. ”

The other Sarevok’s expression grew stony, but he said nothing in reply. 

She turned back towards Sarevok and gave him a final smile. “You’re dying, although I’m sure you are quite aware of that.” Nessa turned the blood-spattered blade over in her hands, gazing at it thoughtfully. Suddenly she swung her arm across his throat, slicing clean through the arteries in his neck. A sheet of red drenched her from the force of the strike and the depth of the cut. His vision faded to blackness and the last sound he could hear was her laugh. A cold, mirthless laugh, one that seemed so distant, yet familiar. She didn’t sound like Nessa, she sounded like….him. 

 

\------------------

 

Sarevok awoke with a start. He was drenched with sweat and one hand went reflexively to his throat and the other to the dagger beneath his pillow. His breaths came fast and heavy, he gasped for air as he frantically felt the intact skin on this neck. 

_Another nightmare._ They were coming more frequently, first it was strange visions of Irenicus, a few of Tamoko, but after he became intimate with Nessa a new wave of morbid images flooded his scant hours of rest. It was always the same, Nessa murdered him anew each night. He rubbed a thick hand over his brows and wiped the sweat from his temples. 

A sound at the door startled him and he jumped to his feet with dagger in hand. 

“It’s just me,” said a familiar voice. Nessa stepped through the doorway and stopped when she caught sight of Sarevok. A single black eyebrow arched upwards. “Nightmares again?”

Sarevok let out the breath he was holding. _It is Nessa, you fool, pull yourself together_. The dagger dropped from his hand onto the wooden floor.

“Yes,” he sighed. The flash of concern in Nessa’s face did not escape him. They had been intimate for weeks, she was mostly recovered from her wounds but still had a darkness behind her eyes that seemed to be a remnant of the change. Her face was a bit paler, her body thinner, she obviously had traded something to access the Ravager but she refused to speak of it. 

“I brought you some breakfast,” she said as she grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt off a nearby armchair and threw them to him. “You should probably get dressed before someone catches me in here.” 

“What are you doing up so early?” Sarevok asked as he pulled the loose tunic over his head.

Nessa shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, figured Valygar would be awake and of course, he was.”

“Must you always run to the ranger for company? You could have woken me.” 

“But you look so innocent when you sleep, I couldn’t bring myself to disturb you.” Nessa flashed him a mischievous grin and placed the small tray of food on a side table near the door. 

“Innocent? Bah, if only you knew what sorts of things I have been dreaming of,” Sarevok scoffed. 

“I think I’d rather not if they’ve got you jumping out of bed naked with a dagger in your hand.”

“Indeed.” 

Nessa split a large bread roll and smeared some butter on it. Sarevok pulled on his pants and walked over to her. A large hand covered hers and squeezed it, forcing her to drop the small butter knife she was holding. 

“I’m trying to make your breakfast here.”

“I’m not hungry for food, Nessa,” Sarevok growled. His voice made her knees feel weak, she knew what he wanted and for the past two weeks she hadn’t been able to deny him. Each moment they shared was forbidden, but all the sweeter for it, she felt as if she could never have enough of him. 

“You have to eat,” she said, her voice croaking in her suddenly dry throat. 

“I was planning on it.” Sarevok pulled her towards him, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and pressed her against him. His desire throbbed against her belly, she felt her own body quickly responding to his touch. 

“But you just got dressed,” she protested weakly. 

Sarevok’s thick lips broke into a wide smile. It was an expression Nessa has come to cherish, his genuine smile, not an evil grin or contemptuous smirk as usual. He was a handsome man, even more so in those few moments when he would let her catch a glimpse of what lurked behind his usual scowl. 

“I’ll let you be, for now,” he said as he slid down into the armchair beside her. He glanced at the plate of buttered bread, cheese, and dried fruit. His stomach rumbled in response, she was right, he did need to eat something. 

“Have you eaten?” he asked as he tore apart the roll. 

“Yes.”

He glanced at her suspiciously. “Have you eaten _enough_?”

“Yes, father.” She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him.

“Don’t tease me girl, I bite.” Sarevok bit a chunk of roll off and stuffed some cheese in his mouth. Nessa watched him with a curious look in her eyes. He swallowed down the bite and paused before taking another.

“Is something bothering you?”

“No,” Nessa replied and twirled a piece of hair around a long finger. “I was just wondering if you feel back to normal yet, for a while there you barely ate at all.”

“It would seem so.” Sarevok paused and turned the roll over in his hand thoughtfully. “It is difficult for me to remember how things were before.”

“Before?”

“Before being brought back, before losing Bhaal’s essence, the memories are there but they seem more like a dream…someone else’s life, even.” Sarevok’s heavy brows furrowed, he grabbed a handful of dried fruit and threw it into his mouth. 

Nessa was taken aback by his sudden openness. It was difficult to adjust to, a Sarevok that wasn’t constant sneers and vitriol. It made her understand why Tamoko was so insistent that Sarevok wasn’t the monster he seemed to be. A pang of regret struck her, she knew he didn’t care that she had killed his former lover, at that point he was so drunk with ambition that he would have done it himself, but she should have been more merciful. 

“You seem surprised,” Sarevok said between bites of food. 

“Yes…” Nessa hesitated. “I...I’m not quite used to this version of Sarevok.”

“Version?” Sarevok frowned. “What am I, some mindless construct?”

“That’s not what I meant…I just…” Nessa sighed and ran her hands through her loose hair. “All of this is overwhelming sometimes. A few months ago you were trying to get me to ‘accept the gifts offered to me’ and whatever other nonsense, now I’m chatting with you over breakfast. Did I mention that you tried to kill me for, oh, at least a year?”

A flash of pain crossed Sarevok’s face. “I cannot change what has been done, Nessa, you know this.”

Nessa nodded. 

“Besides, you have succeeded in killing me. Twice.”

“That never gave me any satisfaction.”

“That’s a shame, it should have. You are a formidable woman, a worthy opponent and clearly the favored of the Bhaalspawn.” Sarevok spoke so plainly about those things, as if it were completely normal to want to kill all of your half-siblings and resurrect a dead god. 

“You would have wanted me to be _glad_ to kill you? How could you let me in your bed if that were the case?” Nessa’s eyes were a bright green, Sarevok noticed that they became a clearer shade of emerald when she was angry or upset. 

Sarevok shrugged nonchalantly. “Such is life for a child of Bhaal.” 

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Nessa murmured and shook her head. Her eyes fell to the table between them.

“Nessa,” Sarevok began. He reached a heavy hand out and cupped her chin in it, roughly lifting her face up to look at him. “I spent many years of my former life researching Alaundo’s words, I recited the prophecies countless times while I trained, even in my sleep I dreamed of the rivers of blood that would wash over the lands.” His eyes began to burn with an amber fire. “If you help the weak, still they perish, your very existence has caused countless deaths, you cannot escape what you are, what you were born to be.” Sarevok’s voice grew deeper and his grip on her face tightened. 

Nessa’s eyes snapped up to meet his, her green irises shining bright with defiance. “No,” she replied firmly. “We choose our own destiny, I can’t control the future but I can make damn sure that every decision I make is the best one I _can_ make. I refuse to give up hope, Sarevok, I already did that once and….” her voice trailed off and a haunted look flashed over her face. “I’m only here because the others didn’t give up their hope in me, because you all decided I was someone worth saving.” 

Sarevok frowned at her. “I wasn’t about to let you throw away your life, not when you are so close to achieving what I struggled for all those long years. My death and wretched return to this earth will not be in vain.”

“Of course,” Nessa laughed bitterly. “Somehow over the past few weeks I’ve let myself be deluded into thinking I am something more to you than a means to an end.” She bit her lip. “Silly me.”

“Do not put words in my mouth, woman,” Sarevok snapped. He pulled his hand from her face as if she had struck him. “I…” he tried to speak but the words would not come out. He clenched a fist and slammed it down on the table, rattling the plate and silverware. “God damn it, Nessa, you ask too much of me! I...I don’t know how to…” his voice cracked and broke off. 

“How to care about someone for who they are, not what you can get out of them? To have a relationship that isn’t about how useful someone is to you?” 

“Something like that,” Sarevok grumbled. “You make it sound so simple. My life has been nothing like yours, I had no walls to protect me from the harshness of the world. If I grew attached to something, my foster father would destroy it. The taint protected me from the pain, our father’s words strengthened me while I was whipped again and again, my ambitions kept me from the brink of despair.” Sarevok gazed up at her, his face the usual mask but his eyes mirroring her own sadness. He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Now I am nothing, a cursed, empty shell of a man, clinging to memories and a destiny that I can never achieve.” 

“Cursed?” Nessa replied, incredulous. “Cursed?! You are free from the taint, you have a second chance at life! Your destiny is your _own_ and yet what do you choose? To make the same mistakes, again?!” 

“My own?” Sarevok barked, nearly choking on his bite of bread. “Surely you jest, Nessa, my fate is inextricably linked to your own, what choice is there in that? I am a dog, chained to _your_ destiny!”

“You can leave, I have told you that over and over again. From the beginning I have told you that your fate is your own, I didn’t ask for any promises, nothing. Don’t act like I’m forcing you to stay here,” Nessa snapped in reply. 

“Bah, insufferable woman.” Sarevok flung his plate onto the ground and jumped up onto his feet. He stormed across the room with heavy footsteps and stopped before a small window, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Nessa watched him walk away and shook her head at the spilled plate of food that was now scattered across the rough floor. She sat in silence for a few moments before rising up from her chair.

“Sarevok…” Nessa began. The warrior remained facing away from her, motionless.

A few more moments of silence passed. Sarevok’s deep voice broke the stillness. 

He glanced through the open window, out at the barren landscape in the distance. He scanned over the mountains where he carried her, where he would have given anything to keep her alive. 

“When I found you in Abazigal’s lair,” he began, his words slow and measured. “When the Ravager faded and you fell to the ground, half-dead, it felt as if a piece of me was being ripped out. The only peace I have found in the months since my return to the living has been in your company, Nessa. Have you never wondered how you brought me back?” He laughed, a short, bitter laugh. “It was magic intended for the gods, we harnessed the same power as a deity raising a supplicant, only a weaker version that required an actual spark from your divinity. My life is tied to yours, not only because I will surely die if you were to die, but also because I was a sworn worshipper of Bhaal, and therefore am now _your_ supplicant.” 

Nessa opened her mouth to protest, but no words would come out. Her mind reeled at his words, what did he mean, he would die if she died? 

“I am your servant, Nessa, it is my purpose. It is what I traded for my return, thinking at the time that I could eventually kill you and circumvent destiny. I did not imagine that our lives would be linked as they are.” Sarevok turned to face her, his tattooed face dark with regret. “I never considered that I could...feel...the things I do…” He struggled with his words, his fists were clenched tightly and his brows knitted. “I thought that man died many years before Imoen struck her killing blow.”

“Sarevok…” Nessa murmured. She walked towards him slowly, cautiously. 

“I do not need your pity Nessa, nor do I want it.” A warning flashed in his eyes. 

Nessa did not reply, instead she stepped up to him and wrapped her long arms around his thick waist. He stiffened at her touch, but after a few moments embrace he finally began to relax. Eventually his own arms snaked around her slender frame, part of him recoiled at the affection she offered, but he couldn’t deny how _right_ it felt to hold her against him. 

She buried her face into his chest, breathing in the heavy, musky scent that clung to him. All of this was wrong, terribly wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t _want_ to stop herself. 

“What if I don’t want to become a goddess, Sarevok? What…” her voice cracked and she pressed her face into his tunic. “What will happen to you?”

Sarevok paused for a moment, allowing himself to enjoy her warm breath against the thin fabric of his shirt. Nessa, the beautiful, enigmatic elven girl he had met all those years ago. Nothing like him, nothing like the visions he had of her in his dreams...she was nothing like the woman he had wanted her to become. His plans crumbled away, their dust fell between his fingers as he ran his hands through her raven-black hair. He could remember how it shone in the dim candlelight as they sifted through stacks of ancient tomes. She was difficult, sullen at times, clearly displeased with being offered up as his assistant, but her eyes shone with excitement as she soaked up the vast stores of information at her fingertips. 

Now those same eyes were peering up at him, shining with some half-hidden emotion that was more than likely only partly for him. The bard’s absence was never spoken of again, but Sarevok could see the shadows that hid in the circles under her eyes and hear the quiet sighs when she thought no one was listening. He would rip the bard’s beating heart from his chest if he could, but it didn’t matter, not anymore. Nessa was here with him, and he had no answers for her questions about what the future held for him if she did not accept godhood. Truly, he had never considered it a possibility.

“You cannot concern yourself with my fate, Nessa, this is no time for foolish sentimentality.” His voice was soft, but his words harsh. 

“I will be concerned no matter what you say, Sarevok, I’m not going to let you die because of me _again_.” Nessa’s arms tightened around him, he could feel her breath catch in her chest. 

“Nessa, look at me,” he said and gently tugged at her chin. Their eyes met, and for a moment there were no walls between them. “I am..” he hesitated, struggling to get the words out. “I am grateful for the opportunity you have given me, for a second chance I would have thought impossible.” He paused and gave her a strange glance, then bent down and pressed a kiss against her lips. She shivered as his skin touched hers. 

“Sarevok…” she murmured as he began to trail kisses down her jaw and neck. 

“No more words,” he growled as he slipped his arms between her thighs and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and nuzzled her head in his muscular neck. “This is wrong,” she whispered softly. 

Sarevok shook his head. “You expect too much of yourself Nessa, we cannot help what we are.”

Nessa looked up at him, at the strong, defiant face of the man she had watched cut down her foster father. The monster who had taunted her at every turn, provoked her until the very end. A Bhaalspawn, a powerful deathbringer, someone who understood the whispers and the nightmares and the urges. Something in both of them had changed and somehow she had ended up in his bed countless times after that first morning of weakness. How could they deny themselves what shreds of peace they could find? Didn’t they deserve it? Hadn’t she earned some scrap of comfort? 

“No more hesitation,” Sarevok rumbled as his lips grazed over hers. “No more apologies.” His breath was hot against her skin, his voice sent shivers down her spine. 

“No more, I promise.” Her hands gripped his heavy cheekbones and they gazed into one another’s eyes. 

He frightened her sometimes, he was a jealous man, controlling even. She was an elf and had the restless spirit that was characteristic of her kind, she recoiled at the possessive nature of humans. They clung so tightly to what they had as if it would disappear at any moment, she assumed it was because of their comparatively short life spans. But now that she held a human in her arms and realized just how short the time they had together truly was, it made more sense. The sand was slipping through the hourglass, Sarevok was living on borrowed time. 

Sarevok carried her to the bed but Nessa had other thoughts, she grinned devilishly at him as she pushed him down on his back and climbed up on top of him. A memory of his nightmare flashed in his mind, Nessa crouching over him with the blade and slitting his throat, the blood splattering across her pale skin. How many people had he killed in the same way? It all seemed so hollow now, his plans for corrupting Nessa were foolish. His ambitions...pointless. 

He couldn’t get enough of her touch, her scent, the way their bodies fit together. She was taller than the average human woman, both of them were hardened by battle and covered in scars. Nessa was nearly as strong as he was and with her formidable magic skills she could easily best him in a battle. Her main weakness was her naivete, as well as her stubborn individualism, she was by no means a natural leader. Sarevok got the sense that Nessa stayed with her groups of compatriots because she felt responsible for them, not because she wanted or needed their assistance. 

His thoughts were interrupted by her hands pushing up his tunic and her soft lips dragging across the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen. He groaned as her warm mouth closed around him. 

_No more hesitation._

 

\------------------------

 

“It is nice to be able to travel with a fellow Harper,” Poppy chirruped happily as she wove through the dusty streets of Amkethran with Jaheira. Imoen has stayed behind at the tavern with Valygar, Nessa was still recuperating and Sarevok had refused to leave her side for weeks. Suspicions had arisen in their minds about the nature of Nessa and Sarevok’s relationship, but no one was willing to voice their concerns. Nessa has changed since her return, the priest couldn’t determine the extent of the damage from the Ravager but some amount of it was permanent. There was a darkness, a light in her that was snuffed even before she left for Abazigal herself. 

“Yes, of course,” Jaheira replied curtly. “It would be wise, however, to keep our affiliations private, the Harpers are not welcomed in all parts of this world.” 

“Oh, yeah...sorry,” Poppy replied, wincing. “I forgot.”

“You do not need to apologize, girl. Let us continue to the caves, I have heard whispers that an old ‘friend’ of ours may have access to Balthazar.” 

“Friend? Are you being sarcastic? Who is it?”

Jaheira sighed. Poppy was a sweet girl, but she got on the druid’s nerves with her effervescent personality and endless questions. “His name is Saemon Havarian, an unscrupulous pirate who drugged our group and delivered us into a madman’s care.” Jaheira’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “If we did not require his aid, I would cut out his duplicitous tongue myself.”

“Drugged?” Poppy gulped. “That sounds...dangerous.”

“Enough chatter, follow me closely.” Jaheira darted through a throng of mercenaries and hurried to the network of caves that lay in the center of Amkethran. The superstitious locals believed it to be haunted, which made it an ideal location for the type of illegal activities Saemon Havarian liked to conduct. The greasy, weaselly, beady-eyed maggot of a man. Jaheira’s blood boiled at the thought of even speaking to him again, but she swallowed down her pride and anger. Any attempt to gain direct access to Balthazar’s monastery would involve no small amount of bloodshed, locals suggested that the smugglers would know a secret entrance. 

She gave a final furtive glance to be sure they weren’t being tailed, then slipped into the black mouth of the cave, Poppy hesitantly trailing behind. 

\------------------


	12. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are big changes in store for Nessa, and a whole lot of complications.

The group was seated together at a large table at Zakee’s tavern, dusty Amkethran’s only inn. Zakee, as they came to know him, was the proprietor of the place and often the barkeep as well. The few other mercenaries and guests left them well alone, save a few whispers and suspicious glances. They had been there for weeks while Nessa recuperated, she had been too grievously wounded to travel the immense distance back across the desert to the nearest city. Such close proximity to Balthazar, the last living member of the Five, was cause for concern but they had no choice. His mercenaries seemed to be for defensive purposes, he told them he meant them no harm, but it was difficult to feel safe in such a place.

Imoen had occupied herself with studying the pile of scrolls that Nessa had given to her after the raid on Sendai’s enclave. She was worried about her sister and despite her efforts found it difficult to retain much of what she read. They had known each other for as long as she could remember. She never could have imagined the events that would unfold after Nessa left with Gorion, but the pit in her stomach had told her it was going to be bad. Gorion was always keeping secrets, Nessa too. What they _didn’t_ know was that Imoen had her own ways of finding them out.

Now she sat at the table across from Nessa, her dark blue eyes peeked out from under a tangled mess of half-dyed pink hair. She hadn’t slept much recently, well, she honestly hadn’t slept much since… _him_. It was hard to remember anything before Irenicus’ dungeon, the girl in her memories seemed like a different person. Her happy childhood was a movie she could watch, but it never felt like _her_ life anymore. She didn’t have the nightmares all along like Nessa did, but after Spellhold they started for her, too. At first killing was something she had to do, her unsteady hands could barely let loose the arrow that struck down her first victim. A gibberling, a mean, gross thing that attacked them first. Now it was effortless. Her spells could turn everything around her into little piles of ash.

Nessa was the most powerful of them, Imoen had realized from the beginning that there was something special about her. The tall elf girl would hide in Gorion’s robes, she was so quiet the monks thought there was something wrong with her. Imoen was relentless in her attempts to make friends with Nessa, there weren’t very many girls her age and the boys were always picking on her. They would hang out in the meadows surrounding the library, lie on their backs and watch the clouds go by while Imoen chattered on and on about what shapes the clouds were, tricks she had pulled on Winthrop, and even the gossip she’d heard in the inn. It began with a soft laugh, then some simple yes or no answers to Imoen’s questions. Eventually Nessa let out a couple words here and there, and soon enough they were close friends.

Nessa was so good at magic it was scary, well, it never scared Imoen but it definitely spooked the stuffy old guys at Candlekeep. It made sense now, with the Bhaalspawn thing, but at the time Imoen thought they were overreacting. Nessa didn’t really _like_ magic though, she’d always complain to Imoen about the long hours they kept her cooped up behind the walls. _Why do they treat me like a prisoner?_ she’d moan. Leaned back on Imoen’s pillows, long arms crossed over her chest, her pretty elf ears sticking out above the leather headband she wore to keep her hair back. Imoen was a little jealous of Nessa, just a tiny bit, it’s hard enough to be an angsty pre-teen without a drop-dead gorgeous elf best friend who’s too aloof and socially awkward to know it.

What Nessa also didn’t know was that it was her sneaky little friend Imoen who’d talked Hull into talking to Gorion about Nessa getting some sword fighting lessons to help her ‘confidence’. You never know when she’d need to defend herself, right? Gorion actually agreed, probably because he’d seen the way the boys had been ogling his innocent ward. Seriously, by the time the initial little prick of envy had faded, Imoen was pretty glad she wasn’t an elf. The guys treated her like a piece of meat. Well, a scary piece of meat that ‘accidentally’ lit things on fire when she got mad or had bad dreams. That one time she had a nightmare and torched her whole bedroom while she was screaming about seeing blood everywhere, phew, those were the days.

Surprise, surprise, Nessa _also_ happened to be freakishly talented at sword-fighting. Imoen had read in a book one time that elves have a natural affinity for magic, so maybe that’s why she was good at it. She certainly didn’t enjoy it much. But when she had swords in her hands, boy did she come alive! Everyone liked watching her, Imoen would bring a couple apples and swing up in a tree to get a good view of Nessa beating the crap out of the guards. She had such long arms, the blades made them seem even longer yet, and her moves were smooth and graceful. Nessa was always one step ahead of her opponents, she’d barely break a sweat as she bested red-faced man after man.

They grew closer still after they left Candlekeep, probably something about the constant threat of death and a steady stream of assassins. There was a bond of loyalty between them, it wasn’t spoken or anything, but they both would keep each other’s back no matter what. If they wouldn’t, who else would? Nessa really came into her own once they left the library, maybe calling it a prison wasn't an exaggeration. They had so much fun together, long days of traveling, nights spent in the local taverns.

It was so much easier then, before Imoen found out that she was a Bhaalspawn. Before Nessa started screwing her over for the latest guy or gal that had given her attention. I mean, seriously, was that an elf thing?! Imoen wasn’t one to judge, but wow, once she didn’t have Gorion watching over her anymore Nessa really made up for lost time in a hurry.

The sound of breaking glass interrupted her thoughts.

“WHAT?! Saemon Havarian? Jaheira, have you lost your mind?” Nessa leaned forward against the wooden table with both of her hands planted firmly. Shards of glass were scattered across the surface. Imoen noted that Nessa’s hair was loose. She never kept her hair loose, it was always in braids or tied back, she’d even begun cutting it short in Candlekeep but gave up once they left. Her sister also wasn’t wearing the earring Haer’Dalis had given her in Suldanesslar. The one Nessa didn’t know that Imoen knew about.

Imoen glanced up at Sarevok. The warrior was standing a few steps away from the table. He was only wearing a simple tunic, and there was something strange in the way he looked at Nessa. A familiarity, maybe? She couldn’t put her finger on it. _There’s no way they’re…_ She shook the thought from her mind, it just wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

“What other choice do we have, Nessa, a frontal assault on the monastery?!” Jaheira retorted, her voice tired. The druid’s face was drawn, dark circles shadowed her eyes and long nights of worry had left traces of lines on her tanned skin. “We know what to expect from the man, at least.”

Nessa shook her head at Jaheira and turned to look at Valygar. “Do you agree, Valygar? Are you going to trust the same man that double-crossed us not just once, but _twice_?”

Valygar rubbed his goatee as he considered their options. “Balthazar’s monastery is well-fortified, why risk a bloodbath? I don’t trust Havarian, but I agree with Jaheira that stealth is our best bet.”

Nessa let out a long sigh and slumped down into the chair beside her. “This is crazy, absolutely mad,” she mumbled, her head buried in her hands.

“We should leave soon, we have already given Balthazar weeks of additional preparation for our arrival,” Sarevok rumbled from behind her.

Nessa turned and gave him an exasperated look. “Thanks for the optimism, Sarevok.”

He shrugged and said nothing in reply.

“You.” Nessa pointed at Poppy, who had been sitting quietly at the end of the table. Her big blue eyes opened wide and she gulped.

“Y-y-yes?”

“Poppy, right?”

“Yes, m-m-ma’am,” Poppy stuttered.

“Ma’am?!” Nessa cried. “Are you serious? Ok, well, ‘Nessa’ will be just fine.”

Poppy’s cheeks turned bright red and she squirmed uncomfortably at Nessa’s scornful sneer. Nessa was glad that Sarevok had left the girl alive, but she really, _really_ wasn’t big on the idea of traveling with two Harpers. She trusted Jaheira without question, but she had no idea who this Poppy girl was and she didn’t want information getting back to those pushy, sneaky Harper bastards.

“Anyways, can you handle yourself? I can give you some coin and arrange for your safe return to Amn.” Nessa’s bright green eyes were fixed on Poppy’s, the young girl was exceedingly nervous whenever she was the object of Nessa’s attention. A Bhaalspawn _and_ a moon elf. Poppy had seen what Nessa could become, and it terrified her. But when the tall, beautiful elf was standing before her, dressed in a simple fitted shirt and woolen trousers, she had a hard time remembering just how dangerous she was.

“That’s...uhm...yes I can, I would like to stay. If that’s ok, of course.”

“Suit yourself,” Nessa shrugged. She turned back to Sarevok and pointed a finger at him. “You brought her here brother, she’s _your_ responsibility.”

“As you wish.” Their eyes met and Nessa thought she could see a hint of a smile on his lips. He was getting too familiar with her, the others were going to pick up on it. She couldn’t worry about it, she would cross that bridge when she came to it. She didn’t choose for Haer’Dalis to leave, in her despair she had nearly killed herself, could they really fault her and Sarevok for finding some short moments of happiness together? After everything they had been through? She didn’t plan any of it, surely they would know that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps approaching her. A swarthy messenger drew up before her and bowed with a flourish. A stray lock of thick black hair fell in his eyes and he swept it back with a quick hand. The way he looked up at her, his full lips curved in a small smile, his dark eyes twinkling at her, it was so familiar. It struck straight through her, loneliness wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed tighter and tighter.

“Nessa of Candlekeep?” he asked, his voice thick with a Calimshani accent.

“Yes?” She clutched a hand at her chest, the feel of the cloth beneath her fingertips brought her back to the present. She drew in a deep breath, calming herself. _Gods, what is wrong with me…_

“A message, from Sir Keldorn Firecam. It is urgent, I was instructed to deliver it as quickly as possible.” He reached into his leather bag and pulled out a small envelope. She snatched the letter from his hand, concern for Keldorn instantly filling her mind and chasing away her momentary nostalgia. He gave her another smile, broader this time, and bowed again before making a hasty exit.

Her companions looked at her with faces full of concern. They watched in silence as she broke the seal and pulled out a simple sheet of paper. Keldorn’s writing was just as she assumed it would be. Impeccably neat, regular, disciplined.

_My dearest Nessa,_

_I hope that my letter finds you well. I admit that I will be surprised if it finds you at all, it is with the most desperate of hopes that I have sent this plea for your assistance. After the unfortunate events in Tethyr, I returned to the Helmites at Watcher’s Keep to discuss the blasphemous accusations heaped upon our innocent heads. I sought refuge there, as I feared I would find no quarter in Athkatla. Odren, the Helmite priest leader of the Knights of the Vigil, informed me of the grave danger that threatens Amn from within the Keep’s walls. The Imprisoned One, as they call him, a demon who has been locked away within the bowels of the Keep for centuries, has weakened his bonds. Foul creatures run rampant and the Helmites can no longer access the lower levels. Odren is aware of the charges brought against you in regards to Saradush, and he has proposed an agreement. The Imprisoned One must be contained, and in exchange for your service in this task he will advocate on your behalf and seek to clear your name. I realize that you face great challenges of your own, but please consider this offer. I would be glad to fight by your side again, if you have need of my service._

_Your most humble servant,_

_Sir Keldorn Firecam._

 

Nessa scanned over the page a few more times before throwing it down onto the table.

“What’s up with Keldorn?” Imoen asked. “His wife dumped him and he wants back in?”

“Not quite, read for yourself.” Nessa’s face was stony as she pondered Keldorn’s request. _Helmites want **my** help? Now? That’s...odd.”_

The letter was passed around the table, and from the looks on the others' faces, they were equally confused.

Nessa stole a glance at Sarevok, hoping the others wouldn’t notice. His face mirrored her own doubts. She couldn’t believe that Keldorn would purposefully lead her into a trap, but he was often blind to the injustices of his fellow ‘holy’ priests and paladins.

“‘The Imprisoned One’,” Valygar murmured and ran a hand over his braided head. “I’ve never heard of him. If the Helmites imprisoned him to begin with, why can’t they fix their own problem? Too convenient, if you ask me.”

“Are you suggesting Keldorn is attempting to lure us into a trap?” Jaheira protested. “If there is an ancient evil locked away in Watcher’s Keep, its escape could upset the balance of the universe itself!”

“If it is a great, ancient evil, then why would an order of priests and paladins request our assistance? We have nothing but a druid.” Sarevok interjected. Jaheira shot him a poisonous glare, but he pretended he didn't see it.

“Maybe because us Bhaalspawn are so evil, we’re the best at destroying other bad, no good creatures? Right?!” Imoen rolled her eyes and sighed. “Do they really think we’re dumb enough to fall for the old switcheroo? Get eeeevil Bhaalspawn to fight eeeeevil thing, lock them all up together in the basement for eternity?”

“We did help the Helmites with that awful beholder cult, remember?” Nessa grabbed the parchment and scanned over it again. It was very strange timing, that she would admit. But if Keldorn asked for her help, it didn’t feel right to say no. He had been there for her through so much, he had risked his life countless times for her sake. His reputation was on the line, too.

“That was before you got framed for murdering a whole city, remember?” Imoen plucked the parchment from Nessa’s hands and folded it back up. “How are the Helmites going to feel about us traveling with our ‘dead’ half-brother, hmm?”

“She has a point, Nessa, your brother is a wanted man,” Valygar agreed. The ranger’s face was dark with worry, he drummed his fingers on the table.

“You speak of me as if I am not here,” Sarevok growled. He rose to his feet and took a long step towards the table. His hand darted out and ripped the paper from Imoen’s hands. His face was expressionless as he flung the letter into the fire behind Nessa.

“Sarevok!” she cried. “What in the Nine Hells are you doing?!” She swung her head up to look at him, her face contorted with confusion and anger.

“The time of the prophecy is upon you, sister, yet you will consider running errands for cowards? If they have imprisoned a being more powerful than they are capable of containing, then they deserve their fate.” He glared back at her, his eyes challenging her. “Truly, do you trust in the Helmites mercy? I thought you wiser.”

Nessa frowned at him. “It’s about Keldorn, not the stupid Helmites, I couldn’t care less about them. Besides, a break from Amkethran might be nice, we have been here for weeks.”

Sarevok’s amber eyes narrowed. He glanced over her face, his eyes searching for the truth behind her words. She shifted nervously under his gaze. He was too perceptive and she was a terrible liar, he had an idea that she wasn’t telling the real reason she wanted to go to Watcher’s Keep.

“I....” Sarevok began, but stopped himself, as if thinking better of what he was about to say. “I have given my opinion.” He stepped back from the table and gave Nessa a last probing stare before sitting back in his chair.

“So, we’re going to Watcher’s Keep?” Imoen asked, her face full of disbelief. “I mean...I guess at least there’s gonna be lots of cool stuff there? They won’t know if we take some of it, right?”

“Imoen!!” Jaheira and Nessa shouted simultaneously.

“What?!” Imoen replied, shrugging her shoulders innocently. “We’re not running a charity here, are we?”

Poppy turned a coin between her fingers nervously. She hadn’t heard much of Watcher’s Keep, just some rumors here and there, but it sounded like the type of place you didn’t make it out of alive.

“I agree with this plan, Nessa, Balthazar is safely locked up in his monastery. Saemon’s smuggling trade is bustling, I doubt he will be leaving anytime soon. Besides, we can travel through your plane, yes?” Jaheira expression was a bit more relaxed, she seemed happy at the prospect of a break from Amkethran.

Nessa nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. Sarevok had told her sometime after she had woken up that the healers were limited in their power to help her. Something held them back, some darkness they couldn’t touch. Nessa could feel it, deep within her, there was a change that had taken place even before she shifted to the Ravager. The Waukeenite cleric could only heal her superficial wounds, but he said further treatment would require a more skilled healer. But the problem was, where? She was an accused mass murderer, where the hell could she find a skilled healer without getting thrown in prison?

Watcher’s Keep, apparently.

 

\---------------------------

 

“Keldorn!” Nessa cried out as the group approached the group of well-armed soldiers standing at the foot of Watcher’s Keep. It was an enormous stone structure, with external staircases running along the western side. There no entrance at the bottom, merely a staircase to the topmost level.

The paladin turned from his conversation with a Helmite priest and his wrinkled, tanned face broke into a wide smile.

“Nessa!” He walked towards her with open arms, his blue eyes shining with a hint of moisture. “By the gods, it is good to see you!”

Nessa soon found herself folded in a tight embrace, the older paladin’s armored arms wrapped around her as if she were a child. In some way she felt like Keldorn’s child, he had been so good to her since they met. Clearing out the beholder cult was their first task together, it was fitting to be puppets for the Helmites yet again.

“I thought it impossible, I assumed my letter would never reach you!” Keldorn said between firm squeezes. “I am so glad to see you alive and well.” He let go of her enough to look at the other companions she had brought with her. “You are all here! I have prayed for your safety and the gods have granted it!”

Sarevok snorted and crossed his armored arms over his chest. “The gods had little to do with our survival, old man.”

“Of course, Sarevok, forgive the superstitious nature of an old man,” Keldorn replied, still smiling. “It is good that you are here, we have much to discuss.” He released Nessa from the hug but still held her arm as he motioned to the young man standing beside him. “You remember Anomen Delryn, yes? He tells me that you traveled together for a short time.”

Nessa looked up at the priest, surprised. Good god, it **is** Anomen! She felt a blush creek into her cheeks, he had left her company after she shot down his attempts at ‘wooing’ her. She probably could have been nicer about it, but he was absolutely infuriating.

Anomen seemed embarrassed as well, and his cheeks turned a deep shade of red as he nodded at Nessa and the others. “It is good to meet you again, I see your company has fared well in your journeys.” He shifted uncomfortably on his armored feet.

“Anomen has recently joined the Order of the Most Radiant Heart, he has been sent to investigate the strange happenings here at the Keep.” Keldorn released his grasp on Nessa’s arm and patted Anomen on the shoulder. “He has grown much in the past year, isn’t that right young squire?”

Anomen blushed more deeply and shook his head. “You flatter me with your words, Sir Keldorn.”

Sarevok let out a scornful chuckle that he didn’t even attempt to stifle. Nessa bit her lip and shot a dark glance back at him over her shoulder. If Sarevok saw it, he didn’t let on, his face remained its usual stony mask of indifference.  
Anomen’s sapphire blue eyes shot up and locked onto Sarevok, Nessa felt sweat dampen the back of her neck as the young paladin’s gaze appraised her half-brother.

“I do not remember this man from our journeys, Nessa, perhaps some introductions are in order?” Anomen asked, his voice taking on a decidedly icy edge.

“Who I am is none of your concern, boy,” Sarevok replied. Nessa groaned inwardly and wished she could slap him. He didn’t like Helmites, he definitely didn’t want to travel to Watcher’s Keep, and she was pretty sure he was going to make that clear for the entirety of their stay.

Anomen’s mouth opened to reply, but they were interrupted by the approach of an older man who was clearly a cleric of Helm.

“Nessa, I have heard much of you.” The man’s voice was clear and strong, his eyes as unblinking as the emblem on his golden tunic. “It is good you have come.”

 

\-----------------------

 

Nessa sat in a makeshift camp at the upper level entrance of the Keep. The Imprisoned One was a great evil that was defeated by Helm himself and dumped in the bowels of this prison fortress. Somehow the protections were breached and the Keep became overrun with demons, far too many for the Knights of the Vigil to defeat. Now they were cut off from the lowel levels, and they were concerned that the prisoner could gain its freedom. Odren seemed like a decent enough man, but something wasn’t adding up.

Sarevok was obviously displeased with the current situation, he had already offended the Helmites by suggesting that the creature deserved its freedom if they were unable to contain it. Imoen’s interest was piqued by the mention of valuables, and Jaheira seemed committed to helping the Helmites’ cause. Valygar was silent as always, and Nessa sat on the cold stone floor mulling over how exactly they were going to infiltrate a tower full of demons. Her eyes kept drifting over to where Anomen was, he was deep in conversation with Keldorn and Odren.

They seemed to be disagreeing over something, and from the looks of it that something was Sarevok. Surely they could detect his true nature, he may have changed some since his resurrection but the man was still, for the most part, an evil bastard. At least his eyes weren’t glowing all of the time anymore, when he was calm or bored they became a clear shade of amber brown. She didn’t look at him when he started getting into it with Anomen, but she could only hope that he was having some fun and not actually getting angry. Nessa glanced over at him, he was gazing off into the distance, his mind clearly elsewhere. She found herself wondering what he was thinking about, what a man like him could have spinning through that manipulative, labyrinthine mind of his. Suddenly his eyes turned to meet hers, as if he could feel her probing into his thoughts and was angered by the intrusion.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts, and a gentle hand rested against her shoulder. Nessa could see Sarevok’s eyes narrow dangerously. She glanced up to see Anomen’s soft face bent down towards her, his expression calm but his eyes nervous.

“Milady, may I speak with you?” he asked softly.

“Of course,” she replied and waved a hand for him to sit down beside her. Anomen glanced around the camp at the other members of her party who were scattered around her.

“In private, if it does not offend you,” he added hastily. “I have my own quarters, if that would be suitable.”

“Sure.” Nessa stood up and brushed off her robes. She could feel Sarevok’s stare burning on her skin, but she didn’t care.

“This way,” Anomen gestured with a wide sweep of his arm. He offered his hand to help guide her, but she shook her head and waved it away.

“You have not changed, Nessa,” he said, his thick brows furrowed. She could see the displeasure in his face, she had obviously wounded his ego already.

Neither have you, she thought to herself as she followed him back to a small, spartan tent in the rear of the camp. Anomen pulled back the curtain at the entrance and Nessa ducked underneath it and found herself in an impeccably neat, well-ordered space. Scrolls and books were stacked on a small table, and a sleeping pad and blanket were folded and placed in the far corner of the tent.

Anomen motioned for her to sit on the single wooden chair at his makeshift desk. “Please, make yourself as comfortable as possible in such a place.” She could see a familiar hint of disgust in his expression, the air of haughtiness that made her want to puke when she first agreed to let him join her group. Back in the slums of Athkatla, when she discovered that the proprietor of the Copper Coronet was using slaves for prostitution and cage fighting. When she freed the hungry, dirty children who were locked up in cages with trolls, she had thought humanity could sink no further. It seemed like so long ago, that was a different time, and a different Nessa.

“I have heard a great deal about you since we parted ways in Athkatla,” Anomen began, his slightly nasal voice interrupting her thoughts.

“Oh? All good things, I expect?”

“Some of it, yes, you performed a number of services for High Watcher Oisig, he held you in the highest esteem before…”

“Before what?” Nessa’s eyebrows arched in mock curiosity. She knew what he was going to say.

“Keldorn insists that you have been wrongly accused, and I must confess, I find it impossible to fathom that Sir Keldorn could participate in the heinous acts of which he was been accused, but…” Anomen’s voice trailed off. He bit his lip and let out a short sigh. “Do you mind?” he asked, motioning at his plate mail.

Nessa shook her head but said nothing. Anomen began to remove various pieces of plate armor, it seemed that the Knights of the Vigil preferred to stay armed, from the looks of it. Anomen turned back to face her, his head now a mass of thick, dark brown hair that had grown longer and framed his sun-kissed face. He was noticeably more muscular, and seemed older, more mature.

“Helm knows who walks at your side, Nessa, and one cannot help but wonder if you have fallen under his influence.” Anomen crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at her, his eyes roving over her face as if he was trying to see into her. “I know little of this man other than the rumors that came here from Baldur’s Gate, but I do not see how we can convince the Order of your innocence if he remains in your company.”

“Then they won’t be convinced.” Nessa shrugged and shifted uncomfortably on the rickety chair.

“Nessa! Your impertinence is unwise, it is not only you who faces prosecution for the crimes committed against Saradush.”

Nessa felt a flush of heat in her cheeks. He was right, but she didn’t ask to be responsible for everyone else, they chose to travel with her, they knew what risks were involved!

“He’s not the same person he was, Anomen.” She struggled against the anger that was rising in her, she hated being lectured.

“You are being deceived,” Anomen replied, his voice clear and firm.

“So then that’s it, hmm? No repentance, no second chances? You, who don’t know the first thing about Sarevok, or me, or what it is like to be either of us, you will decide who is worthy of redemption?” The anger began to spill into Nessa’s voice, her words coming faster and her voice sharper.

“Some are beyond redemption, Nessa. Your brother has committed heinous crimes, I know he is not undead but he has been brought back to life by some foul necromancy powered by the blood of a dead, evil god of murder! You wish to tell me that he no longer desires to sit upon Bhaal’s throne? That your blood doesn’t call you to follow in your father’s path? Surely you are not so naive.”

“Your god knows my intentions, Anomen.”

Anomen recoiled back from her, as if she had slapped him.

“I’ve already killed Sarevok twice, if he gets out of hand then I won’t hesitate to do it again. For now, I’m going to have a little faith in the man’s ability to see the error of his ways.” Her bright green eyes were locked on Anomen, her face calm but her tone still challenging. “We all have our demons, don’t we?”

The hidden meaning behind her words was not lost on Anomen. A flash of pain crossed his face and he ran a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t want to believe the rumors, Nessa,” he sighed. “You were a great support to me in my own trials, I couldn’t believe that you were responsible for the deaths of so many innocents.”

“I tried to save the people there, why would I want them dead? It was a massacre before we even showed up.”

“You gain power through death, Nessa, as does Bhaal himself. Helm sees this, he knows that the most ambitious of the Bhaalspawn seek to resurrect their father through murder on a grand scale.”

“And I’ve stopped them all,” Nessa replied, her voice barely a whisper. Anomen noticed the shadows that hung under her eyes, the pallor of her skin. She was exhausted, frightened even. A half-goddess clinging desperately to her humanity, a pawn in a game that was not of her own making.

Anomen let out a loud groan, startling Nessa. He slumped down on the folded bedroll in the corner of the tent and rested his forehead on his forearm. A few moments of silence passed, but Nessa remained quiet. Anomen’s voice broke the silence. “I’m such an idiot, my friend, forgive me,” he mumbled. “My god has been quiet as of late, and I have allowed myself to be swayed by the slanderous rumors of weak, fearful men.”

“You said it, not me,” Nessa replied with a wry grin.

Anomen laughed and peered up at her from over his arm. “I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“It’s the only thing that’s kept me sane.”

Anomen’s dark blue eyes met hers, and she saw a hint of genuine happiness in them. He looked well, all in all, it seemed that his knighthood had done some good for him. There wasn’t the same insecurity that had plagued him before.

“I question the potential for redemption that you see in Sarevok, but many others questioned the potential that you saw in me, many moons ago.” A hint of red crept back into his cheeks. “It is surprising that you would even agree to be alone with me, here, after what transpired between us.”

“You just had to believe in yourself, Anomen.” Nessa’s face softened with a warm smile. “The past is in the past, let’s leave it there.”

“You are most generous, milady.”

“For now.” Nessa grinned at him, and he finally let himself relax and smiled back at her. They sat there for a while longer, sharing an abbreviated account of what had transpired in the time since they had last traveled together. Anomen was particularly disturbed by her account of Spellhold, but was relieved to hear that Imoen had been rescued and both she and Nessa had recovered their souls from Irenicus. He listened carefully at her version of the events at Saradush, noting that they differed greatly from the information that had come out of Tethyr.

“A drow, a fire giant, and a dragon?” Anomen asked, incredulous. “I see that the rumors of your power are not mere hearsay.”

Nessa shook her head and waved off his compliment. “It is not just me, Anomen.”

“How were you able to defeat a half-dragon, half-Bhaalspawn? I thought the rumours were absurd, I didn’t think it possible that Bhaal could…” his cheeks reddened. “You know, do that, with a dragon.”

Nessa face fell, and she struggled to hide the discomfort that arose at his mention of Abazigal. “Yes, well, I think his avatar could take any form, so, he got around.” Anomen noted the sudden change in her demeanor, the nervous twitching of her fingers at the hem of her robes.

“What is it, Nessa?” he asked, his face creased with concern.

“Nothing, I’m just...ah, tired, you know, we were in the desert in Amkethran and I haven’t quite recovered from the dryness and the heat.” She tried to avoid his gaze.

“You’re hiding something,” Anomen replied, his tone sharp. He peered at her more intently. “There is something else at work here besides simple fatigue.”

“Yeah like the taint of a dead god of murder?” Nessa snapped.

“Tell me what it is, Nessa, there are many skilled clerics here, perhaps they can aid you.” Anomen rose to his feet and began to cross the room towards her.

Nessa let out a long sigh and buried her face in her hands. Gods, she was such a mess. This was the whole reason she had wanted to come to Watcher’s Keep, to try to find a Helmite cleric that could help her, or at least tell her what the hell was going on. But now that she was face to face with Anomen, it was impossible to know where to begin.

Anomen drew near her and crouched down on the ground before her. He reached out a hand towards her and she reluctantly extended her own towards him. He shivered at her touch, a wave of pure evil and revulsion raced through him and he fought back the urge to vomit.

“Nessa…” he murmured. He looked up at her with eyes full of concern. “It has grown much stronger.”

“I know,” she whispered. She fought back the tears that threatened to spill down her face.

“Tell me what happened,” he said, his voice firm. “Please.”

“Anomen, I can’t, you wouldn’t understand,” she said and wiped away tears from her tired eyes. “I just need your help, please.”

“My help?” Anomen looked surprised. “Surely there is nothing I can do...this is far beyond my power…” he stumbled over his words.

“There’s something wrong with me, something else beyond the taint, and I need to know what it is.” Nessa grabbed his hand more tightly and looked up at him, her expression pleading. “A Waukeenite cleric in Amkethran couldn’t help me, I can’t go anywhere else.”

“Waukeenites,” Anomen scoffed. “They are only concerned with contributions, their ‘healing services’ are a mockery of those who truly aid the sick.” His thick brows furrowed and he scanned over Nessa’s face. She looked exhausted, her face long and drawn, her once shiny black hair seemed dull and her skin was more pale than he remembered it. There was a haunted look to her eyes, a nervousness in her demeanor that had never been there before. She was certainly hiding much from him, but he would not press her any further for information. If she was to aid their cause, she could not due so in such a state, so he would have to provide her whatever aid he could. It had deeply wounded his pride when she had spurned his advances, more than a year ago now. Anomen had admired her for weeks that seemed almost like years, he was entranced by her graceful beauty and spirited independence. It was doomed, when he looked back on it he was mortified that he had backed her into a corner in such an unchivalrous fashion and forced an answer out of her. Now she was before him, asking him for his help.

“I will need to prepare some scrolls, but first, let me roll out my bedroll,” he said before hastily rising to his feet and striding over to his bedding. He began to roll out the heavy pad and laid a few blankets over the top before motioning for Nessa to come over.

“I apologize that this is all I can offer, but it is better than the ground. It will be easier if you are laying down, and besides, you look quite tired.” He gave her a warm smile as she walked over to him and lowered herself onto the thin bedroll.

“You sleep on this?” she asked, fidgeting around to try to get comfortable. “I think I’ve slept on more comfortable rocks.”

Anomen laughed and nodded. “I agree, it is quite uncomfortable, I think perhaps it is part of the penance of being sent to this wretched Keep.” He patted her hand and his face grew more serious. “It will take me a few moments to prepare my scrolls, in the meantime, please rest.” He glanced over her face. “I mean no offense, but you look…”

“Terrible?” Nessa interrupted. She sighed and laid her head back on a rolled up blanket.

“Well, I was going to say tired…”

“You don’t need to be polite, I know I look like I’ve been through hell and back.” She looked up at him and grinned. “Because, you know, I have.”

Anomen shook his head and patted her arm. "Sleep."

Nessa obliged him and laid there for a while, her eyes closed and her mind drifting in and out of sleep. She could hear the rustling of papers and hear him muttering frustrated words under his breath. Anomen had a short temper before, it seemed that he hadn’t quite mastered that part of himself yet. She felt safe with him, safer than she had felt in a long time. Anomen had none of the darkness in him that she saw in Sarevok, or even in Haer’Dalis, there was the same simplicity and honesty that she found in Keldorn. It was comforting, if reminded her of what she had been fighting for all of these years, while she struggled against the whispers and the urges. She’d been like them, before, but it seemed further and further away with each day she spent killing her brethren and marching on tirelessly to whatever fate awaited her.

“I am ready, milady.” Anomen was kneeling beside her, his armor now all removed and a pile of scrolls beside him. The deep purple of his tunic was the same as she remembered it, as well as the locket that he wore around his neck, in remembrance of his sister.

Nessa was half-asleep and groggy, but she rose up on one elbow and looked back at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Ok, do I need to do anything?”

Anomen shook his head and motioned for her to lay back down, then reached out his hands over her. He gently laid them over her chest and her forehead, then began to recite what she could only assume were prayers. His voice was soft, and the words came so quickly that she couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

The hand on her chest began to move down her sternum and over her abdomen. His incantations continued and his hands lifted off of her and began to glide over her body, hovering only inches away from her robes and skin.

His eyes were closed and his brows knitted in deep concentration. The cleric’s touch was gentle, his hands moved back over to her stomach and stopped. “I apologize, but you will have to remove your robes,” he said, his cheeks turning red again. “I can provide you with some extra clothes, to cover your modesty.”

Nessa snorted and began to undo the laces and buckles of her robes. “Please, Anomen, it’s nothing a dozen other people haven’t seen before.”

“By the Watcher,” Anomen gasped. Nessa had opened her robes, and he was immediately distracted not by her half-nakedness, but by the myriad of scars that covered her body. Recently healed wounds across her shoulders and abdomen, and a series of geometric scars across her chest, continuing even beneath her smallclothes. “I...I am sorry…” he said, stumbling over his words. “But what...how…”

Nessa wanted to feel ashamed, but she couldn’t summon the emotion. Instead she just felt hollow, it was so strange to have a man bent over her, his mouth hanging open not in desire, but in shock. Anomen didn’t expect a person to be covered in scars, it wasn’t normal to him to have memories and pain carved into your skin. The sadness and pity in his eyes was almost sweet, if it didn’t feel so condescending.

“Sorry, I should have warned you,” she replied, her voice flat. Her eyes stared straight ahead, she didn’t want to look at him anymore, she didn’t want to be pitied.

“No, no...do not apologize, Nessa, please…” Anomen still struggled to find his words. He didn’t even notice her thin smallclothes and barely covered breasts, he was trying to keep himself from gawking at the thick, angry scars on her shoulder. He held out his hands once again, this time both of them over her chest.

“Is it ok if I touch you?” he asked. “It will be easier for me to heal you with skin-to-skin contact.”

Nessa nodded and soon his warm, calloused hands were on her chest. He began his incantations again, his eyes closed tight. She shivered as his hands slid down her breastbone and over her stomach. Her muscles clenched beneath his touch, and his hands came to rest on the area around her belly button.

His forehead creased again, and his hands lingered there. His incantations continued for a few moments, then suddenly stopped. Anomen’s eyes snapped open and looked at her, his expression both shocked and confused.

“You are with child.”


	13. Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plots thickens. Smut and angst, plus me abbreviating Watcher's Keep like crazy because I reaaaaally don't want to write it all out. Also PoD is almost at 500 views, eek, I can't believe it! Thanks to everyone who reads this, you make me so happy :) 
> 
> I'm inspired by Avandra's idea to write a little snippet to celebrate 500 views. If something strikes me, I'll write it up, for now I'm just mulling through ideas.

“Perhaps Jaheira can offer you guidance, I am afraid I have little experience…” Anomen stuttered as he pulled his hands away from Nessa’s lower abdomen.

Nessa was shocked, her mind unable to process the information given to her. She lay on the stiff bedroll, her thoughts spinning wildly out of control, the room itself seemed to move around her. _How…_

“No,” she said, and suddenly jerked up to a seated position. She grasped at the top of Anomen’s tunic and pulled him towards her. Startled, he tried to jerk backwards but found himself caught in her unexpectedly strong grasp. Her bright green eyes were wide open, almost crazed in their intensity, and she leaned her face in near to his. “You will _not_ tell anyone else about this.” He could feel her breath against his skin, fast and ragged, and her expression had a hint of fear in it. 

“As you wish Nessa, it is not a matter of my concern,” Anomen replied brusquely. Nessa could hear the judgmental tone in his voice. Of course, she was both unmarried and a Bhaalspawn. 

Nessa slowly released her grip on his tunic and sank back down onto the bedroll. She rubbed a slender hand over her forehead and bit her lip as she thought how about how the hell this could have happened. Well, she knew _how_ , but after everything Irenicus had done to her? She had barely been eating so the missed cycles were to be expected, the harsh life of adventuring wasn’t the best for fertility. There was no way for her to even begin to guess when she became pregnant. Or...from who. That thought was the one that made her stomach lurch, waves of nausea flooded her and she struggled to calm herself. 

“Is there any way to know how far along I am?” she asked, not looking up at Anomen. 

“I am no midwife, Nessa, but you have no outward signs, so I would guess that it is quite early.” Anomen glanced down at her, he could see the distress in her eyes, the nervousness as she rubbed her hands over her forehead. He sighed and held out a hand and placed it over hers. He did not approve of the situation Nessa had found herself in, but he couldn’t keep himself from wanting to comfort her. 

“You will at least inform the father?” he asked, the kindness in his eyes sincere. His warm hands wrapped around Nessa’s and pulled them away from her face. He held one hand in each of his, and she turned her head to look at him. Tears were pooling and had begun to trail down her cheeks. Anomen squeezed her hands harder. 

“I can’t,” she said, her voice cracking. 

“It is difficult, I’m certain, but you must try, it is only right…” Anomen began, but a loud, gasping sob from Nessa interrupted him.

“You don’t get it,” she croaked between sharp inhales, “I...I…” She swallowed hard and her eyes squeezed shut. “I’m not sure who it is.”

Anomen tried to hide his surprise, and failed miserably. Nessa laughed and pulled her hands from his. 

“Yes, yes, I know, I’m a shameless whore, go on, I know it’s what you are thinking,” she snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. “Judge me all you want.”

Anomen struggled to find his words. His tanned forehead creased, he fixed his dark blue eyes on her and he let out a long exhale. “Nessa…,” he murmured, “I do not know what to say…”

“Then don’t say anything, to anyone.” The angry glint in her eyes grew sharper. 

“I...I have heard that there are ways, ways for women to ah...terminate an unwanted pregnancy.” 

“Who said it’s unwanted?” she retorted.

“Nessa,” Anomen pleaded, “please calm yourself, you must think about this rationally, you are a Child of Bhaal, any child of yours will likely also share in the taint of your father’s blood…”

“I see, judge them before they are even born? How noble of you.” Nessa’s lip curled into a sneer. 

“It is not judgment! You must think of the greater consequences of your actions, can you even take care of a child at this time? Will you ever find their father? Is it fair to the child to raise them in a life as dangerous as yours, with no other family?”

Anomen was right, but this was the last thing Nessa wanted to hear. “Nothing about my life has been fair, Anomen, but I’m still here.” 

“What will happen to the child if you do not survive?” Anomen’s voice grew steely. He stared at Nessa, his jaw set and his expression stiff. 

“I’ve made it this far.” Nessa was looking down at her lap, still shocked at the revelation that there was another living being, living within _her_. A child, her own child, with either Haer’Dalis or.... _Sarevok_. Haer’Dalis had fiendish blood, Sarevok was human but retained some amount of Bhaal’s divine essence. _This is so fucked up._ The thought of having a child with her half-brother made her stomach twist in knots. It had to be Haer’Dalis’ child, it _had_ to be. But how could a pregnancy have survived her becoming the Ravager? Her palms began to sweat. 

Then there was the voice, the whispers that spoke to her before she shifted. She was exhausted, out of spells and covered in cuts and bruises. At that point, she was fairly certain she was never going to make it back out Abazigal’s lair.

_I will help you, daughter, for but a small price._

_Whatever you want._

The voice laughed, a dark, menacing laugh. _A gift so freely given is not a gift to be trusted, I expected more resistance._

_You were wrong. What the fuck do you want._

_Your firstborn, sacrificed to me. A simple task, one that I asked of all of my priestesses._

For a moment, Nessa was ripped out of her abyss of grief and despair. _My what?! No, absolutely not._

_So it is not **whatever** I want, then._

_Yeah, well, I forgot how insane you are. Or, were. I can’t even have children anyways._

_Is that so?_ The voice seemed amused. He was playing with her, or maybe this was all in her head. She wasn’t sure if the conversations were even with Bhaal, or just with herself. 

_Enough talk...give a piece of yourself to me, my child. Succumb to the desires that you bury so deeply within yourself, let go of your fear, revel in the power that I have given you. Slay them for me, daughter, slay them **all**._

_Deal._ Nessa took a deep breath and felt the bloodlust flowing through her veins. She didn’t fight against it, as usual, instead she allowed it to grow faster and faster. Blood was splattered across her skin, the smell of it flooded her senses, her vision began to blur as she stormed towards the massive doors of Abazigal’s inner sanctum. 

The next thing she remembered was waking up in a bed, covered in bandages, with Sarevok beside her. 

Did Bhaal know something she didn’t? Wasn’t she just talking with herself? Had she really given away a piece of herself? She was definitely altered in some way after she became the Ravager, but she wasn’t quite sure how. Was she already pregnant at that point? That didn’t make any sense. Even if she were, she would have miscarried after nearly dying, right?

“Nessa,” Anomen said, interrupting her thoughts. “I...I must ask you…” His voice wavered, his brows were knitted together tightly. “It...it is not...Sir...Sir Keldorn’s…”

“Tymora’s tits!” Nessa cried, cutting him off. “For the gods’ sake, Anomen, no! He’s _married_!”

Anomen’s expression immediately turned from worry to relief. “I thought that perhaps, you ah, seemed close, I am sorry to suggest…”

“He’s like a father to me, Anomen! No, no, that is just, wrong.” Nessa clamped her hands over her face, completely disgusted at the thought. 

“So it is a random dalliance then? The man with the braided hair, certainly he is not the father…”

“Anomen,” Nessa interrupted. “We’re not playing ‘guess the dad’.”

The cleric blushed and began to apologize profusely. Nessa smiled at him and reached up an arm and patted him on the shoulder. 

“I don’t deserve your help, or your kindness Anomen, but please know that I’m grateful for it.” 

He gave her a faint smile and slipped his hand over hers. “You have been dealt a difficult hand in life Nessa, and a child, although a blessing, may prove to be more than you can handle.” 

Nessa nodded and pulled her hand back and began to stand up. “I think I had better go get some rest, I’ve got a lot to think about.” 

“Yes, of course. Shall I inform Oghren that you will be unable to enter the Keep?”

“No, we’ll go in as planned.”

“Nessa,” Anomen protested, “surely you cannot?” He grabbed her hand as she moved to walk past him.

She turned back to look at him. “I feel fine Anomen, there’s no reason for me to stop, plus it’s like I said, I don’t want _anyone_ to know about this.”

Anomen sighed and shook his head. “As you wish. May the gods be with you, friend.”

Nessa laughed. “I think I’ve had enough gods for now, but thanks anyways. I owe you.”

The half smile on Anomen’s face lingered as he watched her lift the front panel of his tent and disappear into the darkness of the night. _Helm watch over you, Nessa._

By some stroke of luck the others had already fallen asleep on their bedrolls, the girls were together and Valygar nearby. Nessa didn’t see Sarevok anywhere, perhaps he was taking the first watch of the night? The Helmites had guards stationed, it seemed unnecessary, but Sarevok wouldn’t be wrong to watch his back in a place like this. She crept through the camp, the only light a dying fire and the stars in the black sky above. It was a warm summer night, but the darkness brought a cool breeze that offered some relief from the oppressive, damp heat. 

Her bedroll was already rolled out between Imoen and Jaheira, she glanced around for a sign of Sarevok and was relieved that she couldn’t see him anywhere. He was quite possibly the last person she wanted to talk to at that moment. Selfishly, she wished she could wake up her sister, tell her everything that had happened, confess her sins and beg for Imoen’s forgiveness. But they would never accept Sarevok if she did, the best case would be them demanding he leave, the worst case would be picking a fight. Nessa wasn’t even sure if Imoen could forgive her. What if they...left? Haer’Dalis’ abandonment was still fresh in her mind, she pretended nothing had happened but the wound hadn’t healed, and now with a child? _A baby…_ Her hand reflexively went to her stomach. 

Something in her changed, in that moment that Anomen revealed her pregnancy, a new hope blossomed deep within the darkest crevices of her soul. A normal life, a child, a _future_. Her own mother never loved her, never cared for her, Nessa was just fuel for Bhaal’s return. Gorion was good to her, but he was never a replacement for a mother, and Nessa remembered the mistrust she saw in the priests’ eyes when she first began to show signs of her heritage. She knew what it was like to be feared not for what you are, but for what you _could_ be. She would understand her child better than anyone else possibly could. 

Nessa laid down on the bedroll and pulled her thin blanket over her slender frame. Her mind was racing but her body was exhausted, and within a few moments she fell asleep. 

\-------------

Sarevok watched as her chest began to rise and fall with slow, steady breaths. He was indeed on watch, he didn’t trust the self-righteous Helmite zealots enough to rest. He had stripped off the heavier pieces of his armor and climbed up into the lower branches of a large nearby tree. He was surprised Nessa had not spotted him. The night offered him some seclusion, he had spent most of the past weeks in Nessa’s room, barely leaving her side long enough to bathe or eat. A strange compulsion drove him to watch over her, he tried to distract himself but to no avail. He couldn’t stand to see her slip into that pompous cleric’s tent, what did she want from him? Why did she want to come to this place? 

It infuriated Sarevok that she was hiding something from him, but there was no forcing it from her, he had tried. He had taken her body, heard his name moaned from her lips, but there was a hidden world within her, one that was locked tight. He would gain entry...in time. 

His eyes lingered on her, scanning over her dark hair that spilled out over her pillow. The smooth skin stretched over her sharp cheekbones, her pale pink lips parted slightly. The long, ivory neck, slender yet strong. A neck he had fantasized about snapping more times than he could count, he had imagined over and over how the knife would feel as it cut across her skin, what her blood would sound like as it splashed on the ground. How long would it take for her fade to nothing but dust in his hands. 

Nessa believed he deserved a second chance, that such a thing was possible. She wasn’t interested in what he offered her, in what she could gain from having him around, instead she was motivated by some strange sort of _charity_. She cared for him, she recently had told him as much, but he realized it in the moment that she handed his sword back to him. How long had she carried that with her? Why hadn’t she gotten rid of it? There was a sentimentality in her, too. At first it seemed like an opportunity for exploitation, but when he found himself in her bed, there was little left in his mind other than desire. 

His half-sister...the elven girl he had met all those years ago. The girl who would eventually be his undoing. 

In that moment, as he sat beneath the stars and gazed at her form, illuminated by the flames of a fading fire, he found himself unable to summon a single regret. It all had led them to this place, he found a freedom in her company that he had not experienced...ever. No oaths, no demands, she gave him his life and told him to do with it what he wished.

There was no guarantee of a future for them, together or alone, a Bhaalspawn’s days were numbered from the moment of their birth. A full life or happiness was not their reason for existence, they lived on borrowed moments with borrowed divinity. She had given him a piece of herself, she had breathed life into her greatest enemy, a man who had hunted her relentlessly. 

A single phrase echoed in his mind as he watched over Nessa. 

_Thank you._

 

\---------------

 

The early morning sun’s rays crested over the hill to the east and shone bright light into Nessa’s eyes. She awoke from her dreamless sleep, feeling more rested than she had in weeks. Perhaps it was the familiar comfort of a bedroll on the hard ground, tucked between her sister and the only mother figure she had ever had. It reminded her of days long past. 

Imoen was already awake and was sitting by the charred remnants of the campfire. Jaheira and Valygar appeared to be gone, and Sarevok was still nowhere to be seen. Imoen glanced up at her and gave her a half-grin. “Hi, sleepyhead.”

Nessa propped herself up on her elbows and tried to shake the sleep from her foggy brain. “Morning,” she grumbled. 

The Helmites scurried about behind them, they seemed to be gathering for what she could only assume was their morning prayer. Imoen held a piece of bread in her hand and tore at it with her sharp, crooked teeth. She had the cutest smile, there was something about her small face and twinkling eyes, combined with her pointy, snaggle-toothed smile. She was impish and yet entirely trustworthy. 

“Have a good talk with Anomen?” Imoen asked. 

Nessa’s brows furrowed. “What...I...yes, I thought you were…”

“Asleep?” Imoen interrupted. Her grin widened into a smile and she gave her sister a wink. “Come on now, you know me better than that.”

Nessa sighed and pushed herself up to a seated position. “That I do.” She really, _really_ did not want to talk to Imoen about this right now. Nessa was a terrible liar, especially when it came to Imoen. Her sister could see straight through her. 

“Is that why you wanted to come here?” Imoen asked, as if she could read Nessa’s mind. Her dark blue eyes glittered with a hint of malice. 

Nessa paused and looked away from Imoen, her eyes scanning over the gray stone walls of the Keep. She wanted to lie, but she couldn’t. “Yes.”

Imoen’s thin eyebrows arched. “Wow, the truth? I’m shocked.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, ever since Sarevok showed up you’ve been acting different. Then Haer’Dalis leaves and you run off on a suicide mission? You won’t even talk to me about it, you won’t talk to anyone about it, except _Sarevok_ , I bet.” Imoen sneered as she said his name. 

“I didn’t talk to anyone about it, Im, that’s why I came here, to talk to someone who could help me…”

“What about us, Nessa?” Imoen’s eyes began to tear up. “What about me, or Jaheira, the ones who have been with you the whole time? Why can’t we help you?”

“Imoen…” Nessa stammered. “I...I can’t…”

“No, you _won’t_. You won’t even give us a chance, we’re just stuck following you around, waiting for you to actually give us any idea of what’s going on! I’m a Bhaalspawn too, you know, this whole prophecy thing affects my life too!” Imoen’s voice grew more shrill, she was getting angry. 

Nessa was at a loss for words. Imoen wasn’t wrong, but there was no way she could tell her sister what had been going on. She couldn’t lose Sarevok, not now. 

“Imoen, please, can you just...can you please trust me on this? I’m doing the best I can…” 

“Maybe that isn’t good enough.” 

Imoen’s words cut through Nessa. “Imoen…”

“He’s changing you, Nessa, whether you see it or not.” Imoen’s eyes looked off into the distance. “We can see it.” 

“Everything changes.” 

Imoen snorted. “Where’d you learn that from, your ex? He didn’t bother sticking around, did he?  
You gonna replace him with Sarevok? A sort-of-demon wasn’t enough, huh, had to go for full evil half-brother?” She immediately regretted her words. Nessa looked like she had been punched. 

“Is this your idea of helping, Imoen?” Nessa asked. Her eyes flashed with a warning, her face suddenly devoid of any emotion. 

Imoen glanced down at her hands. “I’m sorry, sis, that just came out...I didn’t mean it…”

“Yes you did.” Nessa rose up from her bedroll and smoothed her robes. “It doesn’t matter, we need to get ready. We will enter the Keep in an hour.” With that she turned on her heels and walked away, towards the main camp area where Keldorn and the others were seated. 

Imoen watched as Nessa walked away, she bit her lip and cursed at herself for losing her temper. She wanted to tell her sister to stay, to listen to her so she could try to explain herself, but she knew there was no point to it. When Nessa turned her emotions off there was no use in trying to talk to her. That was always how Nessa had protected herself, even when they were kids, she would throw herself into her books or her training and refuse to talk to anyone. Eventually she would snap out of it and act as if nothing had happened. 

The sound of sticks cracking from behind her startled her out of her daydreaming. She spun around and pulled a dagger from a band around her leg. 

Sarevok was standing before her, his thick lips curled up in a half-smirk. _How long had he been there?_

He walked past her and said nothing, not even turning his head to look at her. 

He was playing games with her, she was certain of it. Nessa was too trusting, she couldn’t see that Sarevok was messing with her. He’d ruin her, just like he ruined everything. 

Imoen sank back down to the ground and let the dagger fall from her hand onto the stones beneath her. She glanced at the campsite, and suddenly realized that Poppy was missing. In fact, she hadn’t seen the girl all morning. Jaheira and Valygar had gone off to the makeshift armory to sharpen their weapons, but Poppy hadn’t gone with them. There was something strange about the girl, something that tickled at Imoen’s senses, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. 

She sighed and ran her hands through her tangled pink braids. Why did everything have to be so complicated. 

 

\--------------------------

 

The familiar prickle of her skin, the danger licking at the edges of her senses, the uneasiness. It was _too_ familiar, painful, even. 

They had spent nearly a week descending deeper into the Keep, the upper levels had been mostly simple puzzles and traps but now they were stuck in some strange maze inhabited by tanar’ri and baatezu. The stupid Blood War, she understood now why Haer’Dalis spoke of it with such disdain. Utterly pointless. 

She could feel the tieflings’ presence before she saw them, the male had dark hair and pale skin with small horns protruding from his head, the female had curves like a succubus and a tail that peeked out from behind her. The male tiefling had two short swords, just like Haer’Dalis. Fitted leather armor covered a sinewy, scarred frame. The anger in his eyes was the same, the bloodlust, it was something that Nessa and Haer’Dalis shared. 

Nessa set herself on him with a fury that startled even herself. This tiefling was innocent, he wasn’t the one who left her, he wasn’t the one who committed himself to a death cult, but she was going to make him pay for it. Their swords clanged against each others but it soon became apparent that Nessa was the stronger and better fighter, the tiefling struggled against her strikes as they hammered against him. She feigned a swing and he fell for it, leaving an opening for her to bury her sword into his gut. Her blade slid through his armor and skin like paper, she peered deep into his eyes as she forced it through him. She was going to make him pay for what Haer’Dalis had done to her. 

The tiefling choked on the blood that was bubbling up out of his throat. The anger in his eyes faded to the realization that he was dying, and the momentary flash of regret was enough to snap Nessa out of her rage. She dropped her blades as if they were poisoned and stepped away, her hands clutching her elbows tightly. The other tanar’ri were slain, and her companions watched with concern as she sank down to the floor. 

“Nessa!” Sarevok cried and sprang forward to catch her as she slumped backwards. 

Nessa couldn’t hear him, she was lost in memories, regrets even. If Haer’Dalis hadn’t left her, none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t be wondering whose child she carried, she would have never slept with her half-brother, she wouldn’t be stuck in a never-ending maze at the bottom of a Helmite prison. She would have never become the Ravager, she wouldn’t be wondering how much of a piece of herself had been taken in a desperate bid for survival. She wouldn’t feel so empty, so alone. 

Sarevok strong hands grabbed her shoulders, she could feel him gently shaking her. “We have to move on,” she could faintly hear him say, his voice deep and thick with concern. 

“Oh...you’ll move on...everyone does…” she murmured to herself. Sarevok gave her a warning look. 

“Maybe it’s time to take a rest? It’s been a long day, and we don’t seem to be making headway.” Valygar stood behind the two of them, cleaning demon blood off of his katana. 

Jaheira shook her head and re-sheathed her scimitar. “I tire of this place, but I hesitate to rest here, there are strange creatures afoot and I will not sleep easily in a labyrinthine Blood war battlefield. We should move on.” 

Poppy and Imoen stood to the side and said nothing. 

“We cannot stop here,” Sarevok agreed. “The only adventurers we have met here were either dead or mad, we should find an exit as quickly as possible.” He looked at Nessa and tried to catch her eye, but her gaze was distant and fixed on a far wall. 

He hoisted her up onto her feet and reached down to pick her blades up off the ground. He handed them to her, and as her hands wrapped around the hilts she began to snap out of her spell of despair. This place reminded her too much of Haer’Dalis, and she was feeling claustrophobic after days of being practically entombed. Sarevok had been trying to get her alone for days, but she rebuffed him, she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. He stood before her, his face turned down in a frown but his amber eyes shining with with a mixture of anger and concern. He knew why she was upset, and he would by lying if he said it didn’t make him nearly overwhelmed with jealousy. She belonged to _him_ , not that foppish bard. 

“Can we rest, just for a little while? I am feeling a bit tired,” Nessa said as she strapped her blades back at her sides. “We could all use some sleep.”

“I won’t be sleeping in this place,” Sarevok replied. “I will keep watch.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any safer,” Imoen muttered as she glanced around the room. 

“We could rest in our father’s plane, if that would make you more comfortable,” Sarevok retorted. It was true, they could rest in the pocket plane, but Nessa had been avoiding it for a number of reasons. For one, it was creepy, and for two she was avoiding being alone with Sarevok and that would be more difficult to do in the pocket plane. But when faced with the option of trying to sleep one more night in this damned Keep, the Abyss seemed like relative luxury.

“Yes, Nessa, why can we not rest there? I do not understand your hesitation,” Jaheira agreed.

Nessa sighed and hung her head. “Fine,” she said, “we can go there.” 

“Thank the gods, perhaps that imp of yours can make us some proper food. I tired of these Helmite rations.” Jaheira curled her lip in disgust. 

Nessa nodded and motioned for the others to come closer to her. In an instant they were whisked away to her pocket plane. 

Poppy tried to hide her shock at the massive cavern she found herself in. Giant statues towered over her, their mouths twisted open in expressions of pain, anger, fear. A chill ran through her, of all the things she expected to see while adventuring with a Bhaalspawn, hell itself was not one of them.

“It’s not really hell,” Nessa said to her, as if she could read her thoughts. The elf’s penetrating green eyes scanned over her face. “It’s just an extension of myself, my own power, there’s nothing to be afraid of, here.”

Poppy’s concerns were soon alleviated by a warm bath and a full stomach of hot food. Somehow Nessa’s imp butler, Cespenar, could summon bathing quarters, a table full of food, and even private sleeping quarters. Something about shaping reality, using Nessa’s divine essence, it was all things she didn’t understand. 

They were mostly silent as they plowed through the feast Cespenar provided for them. Even Sarevok ate fully, his appetite seemed almost insatiable. Nessa moved her food about her plate with her fork, her face creased with unspoken worries. The others didn’t notice, they were too busy eating, but Poppy saw that Sarevok’s eyes often trailed back to his half-sister. _He_ noticed her half-empty plate. 

“I confess, I do not feel up to company tonight, I shall retire to my bed at once. May we all wake refreshed and ready to face whatever lies at the end of that godforsaken maze,” Jaheira said as she stood up and stretched her slender arms over her head. 

“I agree,” Valygar said as he stifled a yawn, “I’m beat.”

Imoen stood up with them and Poppy followed suit. The little imp suddenly appeared behind her, startling her. 

“I will show you your beds, Cespenar good helper, he make you nice beds, nice, soft beds,” he chirruped nervously. 

Imoen glanced over at Nessa, but her sister didn’t notice. They still hadn’t spoken to each other since her outburst. Sarevok sat at one end of the table, and Nessa at the other, she fiddled mindlessly with her food while Sarevok continued to tear the cooked flesh off of a pork hock. She didn’t want to leave Nessa alone with him, but she was also exhausted and needed to rest. 

They each had been given a private partitioned sleeping ‘room’, the walls were made out of some sort of organic material that Imoen tried to not think about. The beds were soft, as Cespenar had said, and Imoen felt a wave of relief as she sank into the plush mattress. In moments she was fast asleep.

Back at the dining table Sarevok finished up the last of his food, sopping up whatever juices and bits of meat he could with chunks of bread. He looked up at Nessa again, but her eyes were fixed on something far away, her mind with them. She pushed away from the table and rose to her feet, wordlessly she turned from him and moved to walk away. 

“Nessa,” he said, his voice echoing through the emptiness. “Stop.”

She stopped, but did not turn back to look at him. 

“You have not spoken with me in days, you avoid my company, you drag me on some fool’s errand and you will not tell me why?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but no words would come to her. Silence hung between them, and still she kept her back to him

“Answer me!” he growled, his voice growing angry. He rose to his feet and stalked towards her. She could hear his bare feet padding across the hard floor. 

“I…” she began. Sarevok drew up behind her and grabbed her arm, his strong hands wrapped around the bare skin of her forearm and pulled her towards him. She tried to turn her face from him but he grabbed her head with his other hand and yanked it upwards. 

“I will not be toyed with,” he snarled. His pale topaz eyes burned into hers, she wanted to struggle against him but she had missed the feel of his skin against hers. His rough thumb pressed her chin up, his long fingers wrapped around her neck. His anger was palpable, she could see the disgust in his expression, the rejection that he felt by her distance. She wanted to kiss him, wrap her legs around him and make love to him until the other Sarevok returned, the one that watched over her all those long nights. 

But how could she, now that she was....

Her thoughts trailed off and she shivered. She couldn’t tell him, she just couldn’t. She had no idea whose child it was, it didn’t seem right to give a man false hopes or false fears, besides, Sarevok was possessive enough of her as it were. 

His grip on her neck tightened, her pulse quickened as his fingers began to bruise her skin. “You’re hurting me,” she whispered. Nessa looked up at him with her beautiful emerald eyes, rimmed with thick black lashes and framed with a cascade of obsidian hair. No fear, no trepidation, only...regret? Sadness? A distance that was not there before, something had happened in that tent with Anomen, and Sarevok would be damned if he didn’t find out what it was. 

He pulled his hand away from her neck and let it trail down her collarbone, across her smooth, ivory shoulder and down her side. She inhaled sharply as his thumb brushed across her breast, it had been more than a week since they were together in Amkethran. 

“Nessa,” he rumbled, his eyes igniting with a flicker of amber fire. He stepped closer to her, she could smell his scent, she could feel the heat of his skin through his thin tunic. They had all stripped off their armor, Cespenar could clean it and there was no need for protection in this place. Nessa wore a simple sleeveless shift dress, it fell to her thighs and Sarevok could see her bare legs and the scars that danced across her skin. 

“Sarevok, we can’t…” she protested weakly. “The others…”

“To hell with them,” he replied as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. 

“Sarevok...no…” she murmured as his hands slipped down over her hips and lifted her up. 

“Why must you deny yourself, Nessa,” he said as he turned and set her down on the table behind them. She glanced up at his tanned face, the strong jaw and thick lips, his tattoos and heavy brows. He was a handsome man, he _looked_ like a god, he was superhuman in size and strength. She didn’t understand what this thing between them was, what drove them together, but at that moment she didn’t care. He was impossible to say no to.

“Not here,” she whispered between moans as his fingers crept between her thighs. “We can’t...”

Sarevok’s lips curled up in a wicked grin. “We can do anything we wish, Nessa.” His hands pulled at her dress and roughly hiked it up over her hips. Hungry lips found hers, his tongue filled her mouth as his fingers pressed at her opening. He growled in approval when he found her wet. 

She arched her back in response to his touch, the pressure between her legs was already building. Nessa slipped her hand to his trousers and felt that he was fully aroused. She fumbled with his pants and he shoved her hand out of the way and pulled them down, freeing his thick, heavy erection. She spread her legs wider and leaned back on her hands and he grabbed for her again and pulled her hips closer to his. Nessa clamped her mouth shut to stifle her moans as he buried himself deep within her with one forceful thrust. 

Pleasure rumbled in his throat as he slid himself out of her slowly, then thrust back again, hard. His motions became faster as he felt her tighten around him, her eyes were shut tight and her cheeks were flushed bright pink. He reached a hand up around her back and wove it through her hair. With a painful jerk he pulled her head back and her eyes opened, her expression surprised. He began to pound against her even harder, and her eyes rolled back into her head. 

“Look at me,” he demanded, pulling again at her hair. She panted as he filled her again and again, she struggled to keep her eyes on him. 

“Sarevok…” she groaned, biting her lip to keep herself quiet. It was so wrong, to be fucking him on the damn dinner table, but she didn’t care who saw her, not right now. His eyes burned into hers, he was looking for something in her, searching for the secrets she kept locked away. 

The softness of her eyes, the way she opened herself to him completely, it began to eat away at the rage that had built in Sarevok over the past week. His grip on her hair loosened, his hand moved down to cup her cheek in his rough, calloused palm.

“I have missed you,” he rumbled as his lips pressed against hers. He slowed the pace of his hips and rocked against Nessa in smooth, measured movements, savoring the gradual buildup of pleasure. She leaned up to press her breasts against his chest and wrap her arms around his torso and her legs around his hips. "I've missed you, too," she whispered. The feeling of her skin against his, her body molded against his, the tightness of her around him, it overwhelmed him. They both began to move more frantically against one another, she grabbed at his face and pulled it towards her and moaned into his mouth as her muscles spasmed around him. He was not far behind her, his fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs as he released himself deep within her. 

They sat there for a moment, Nessa’s fingers traced over his back as she leaned her head against his chest. He breathed heavily, his legs felt weak as he stood before her. 

How did they end up here? Nessa tried to summon a shred of regret but she couldn’t, not now. She pressed herself against him, wishing that they could stay there for a just a while longer. Wishing that they could be together, that their moments didn’t have to be stolen. That she wasn’t a Bhaalspawn. 

She glanced up at him, at his sweat-covered forehead and tattooed face. His amber eyes looked back at her, the anger gone, replaced with a tenderness that took her breath away. She would have to tell him about the child, sooner rather than later, but for now she would enjoy this moment they had together. Who knew how many more they had left.

 

\----------------------

 

Poppy watched from the shadows, struggling to keep herself from vomiting as Nessa and her _brother_ , the Butcher of Baldur’s Gate, fucked each other on the table where she had just eaten dinner. It was just like they said, Bhaalspawn were cursed, no matter how much good they did it didn’t matter, they were creatures born of pure evil. She would have to tell them about this, after all it might move up the timeline, but she would have to wait until they were out of the Keep. 

_Disgusting_ , she thought to herself as she turned back and crept to her room. He would pay for what he had done, and if she wanted to defend him, she would die too. 

All the Bhaalspawn would die, one way or another. They would see to it.


	14. Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's gonna be a bumpy ride. There are a few chapters left until the end of ToB, it's a bit painful to write them but I promise through all the angst and heartbreak there will be light at the end of the tunnel.

Two hearts beating  
One beats the other  
While the other just looks away  
Two hearts dreaming nightmares together  
Leaving nothing more, nothing left to say

-Two Hearts, Birthday Massacre

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“No...that’s not possible…” The walls of the cavern crumbled before Nessa. She clutched her chest, her other hand at her temple. _No, no, no._

They had returned to the maze and finally reached the end of it. A strange cambion and pair of tieflings blocked the exit, the cambion offered to gamble for the scepter required to gain access to the next level of the Keep. When he mentioned that he would trade a valuable deck of magical cards that were once owned by Duke Darkwood himself, it jogged her memory. _Duke Darkwood…_ That was the name of the factol from Sigil, the one who had placed the bounty on Haer’Dalis and Raelis Shai’s heads. When she had asked him if he had news from Sigil, his curiosity had been piqued.

“What do you know of Sigil, girl? I do have news, in fact, we barely managed to escape with our lives.” He waved an armored hand around the foreboding cave. “The portal took us to this place, although I am not yet certain where, exactly, this place is.”

Nessa’s blood ran cold.

“Come, Nessa, we have no time for this…” Sarevok began, but Nessa motioned for him to be silent. He gritted his teeth and sighed, clearly irritated.

“Why are you fleeing Sigil?”

The cambion gave her a cautious look. “The Lady of Pain has disbanded the factions, on pain of death. I and my companions thought it best to travel elsewhere and wait for the dust of war to settle, the Lady is not known for her compassion.”

“What about the Doomguard? Aren’t they a...a faction?” Nessa bit her lip, she already knew the answer. She could feel it.

Aesgareth stared back at her, his ruby red eyes narrowed as he watched her. “Why would the fate of the Doomguard concern you, prime? It is strange indeed that you know anything of my world. Perhaps...” He paused and a single black eyebrow arched. “You knew of Duke Darkwood as well, could it be that _you_ are the prime who freed the Sigil Troupe? One of them was a sinker, I heard.” His lips parted in a cruel grin. “Emphasis on **was** , of course.”

Nessa wasn’t listening anymore. Imoen stood behind her, her hands covering her mouth. Valygar and Jaheira’s expressions were steely but they remained silent, Sarevok’s fist was clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword. He glanced over at Nessa and saw that her face was a ghostly shade of white. He could feel the anger building in the air.

“Was?” Nessa asked, her voice hollow.

The cambion laughed. “The Harmonium assaulted the armory, most of the Doomguard were dead before some fool unleashed a sphere of annihilation. Whoever was left there is now....nohthing. If you know anything of the Doomguard, it is a fitting end.”

“Haer’Dalis Salrakas, do you know him?” Nessa demanded. She could hear her blood pulsating in her ears.

“Ah, yes, of _course_. So you _are_ the prime who delivered him from the clutches of Darkwood’s bounty hunters, hmm? Interesting.” The cambion tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You would fetch quite a price, if Darkwood hadn’t gotten mazed. Most inconvenient.”

“Do you know him? Is he...is he dead?” Nessa stepped forward towards Aesgareth, he towered over her.

“Yes I am familiar with him, prime,” the cambion snapped. “The Salrakas’ are a wealthy trading family in Sigil. Haer’Dalis had quite the reputation, with all manners of creatures, I see his charms did not fail him in this plane, either.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Nessa barked, her throat dry. “Is he dead?”

“How should I know? If he was in the armory, then most likely yes. Your questions bore me, mageling, shall you join me in my game or not?” The cambion glared at her, but Nessa didn’t notice. Her heart was pounding in her chest, the room was spinning.

“It can’t be, no, it can’t be true.” Her voice was small, haunted. “He couldn’t have been there, he must have escaped, no, no, no.” She shook her head and clutched her temples. She could accept him leaving her, she could let him live his life how he wanted to, but let him _die_? Rage began to build in her, she couldn’t stem the tide.

She waved her hands before her and instantly time stopped. Her body moved as if controlled by some outside force, she stepped towards the cambion and pulled out her swords. Wrath flooded through her, she hit Aesgareth with a flurry of blows and a final cut that severed his head clean from his neck. The tieflings were similarly dispatched, and before the time stop spell faded she transported herself back to the pocket plane.

Nessa raced towards the summoning spirit at the massive gateway to the plane.

“Summon Haer’Dalis!” she nearly screamed. “Bring him here, now!” Her chest heaved with heavy breaths.

A few moments of silence passed like an eternity. She gasped for air, but her lungs were constricted by some unseen hand. “He is beyond my reach, Child of Bhaal,” the spirit finally replied, its voice calm.

Nessa’s heart skipped a beat. “What the fuck does that mean? Is he _dead_?” she cried.

“I know not. He is beyond my sight.”

“Look harder!” Nessa barked. Her legs were beginning to shake. “Find him, damn you, _FIND HIM_.”

“I cannot.” The spirit’s impassive tone served only to further enrage Nessa.

“Damn you!” she roared. Her hands shot forward and she cast a skull trap, sending it crashing into the rocks that held the summoning spirit. Spell after spell left her hands, each blasting away chunks of rock. When she was out of spells she grabbed a hammer out of her bag of holding and began to smash at the archway. She didn’t notice that the pocket plane was beginning to distort behind her, her rage altering the very structure of it.

“Why? _WHY_?!” she screamed, her hands bloodied but still striking again and again at the stone archway. “Damn you, damn this place, damn Bhaal, I didn’t ask for _any_ of this!”

Her vision was blurred with tears, her arms quivering as she struggled to keep hold of the hammer. She threw it to the side and sank down onto her knees and buried her face in her blood-covered hands.

“Haer’Dalis…Haer’Dalis…” she whimpered, her whole body trembling. She hadn’t even tried to stop him from leaving, she could have easily killed his brother and that woman who came with him. If she had known it would cost him his life, she would have defended him to her last breath. She thought...gods, she thought it was what he _wanted_. All those times he had talked about Sigil, the nostalgia in his voice, the longing in his eyes, she was the only thing keeping him on Toril. Why hadn’t she begged him to stay? _Why?!_

Pride, that was why. Her own stupid, selfish pride.

Nessa wouldn’t be allowed in Sigil, she couldn’t try to find him, she couldn’t free him from _this_ prison. She was utterly powerless. For the first time in her short life, she wished that she were a goddess. A goddess could save her supplicants, a goddess could bring them back from the dead.

She had comforted herself with the thought that maybe someday they would meet again, after all of this was over. It wasn’t a hope that she dared speak, or even spend much time thinking about, but it was still there in the back of her mind. Fate had brought them together once, perhaps it would happen again. That he could be gone, _forever…_

Her hands slipped to her stomach, to the life she was carrying within her. A child. If it was Haer’Dalis’, the child would never meet their father. If it were Sarevok’s, it would be an abomination. No one would accept a child of half-siblings, no matter whether or not they were truly related. Technicalities did not matter to the gossiping masses.

Nessa sank down further, her forehead resting against the cold, stone floor of the cavern. The others were surely worried about her, but she couldn’t care less.

The possibility of Haer’Dalis’ death shook the fog that had been lingering about her, clouding her judgment. How could she have been so selfish? Fucking Sarevok in the same bed she had shared with Haer’Dalis. A sob caught in her throat, tears of regret streamed down her face, mingling with the blood smeared across her cheeks. She could blame it all on the taint, she could say it was his fault, but that was a lie. She wanted him. She wanted an escape from the pain.

She has used Sarevok, just like she had used so many people before him, as a brief respite from reality.

Nessa’s thoughts grew more frantic and jumbled as she laid there, slumped over on the floor of the pocket plane.

Haer’Dalis was older than her, he was 44 years old when they first met. She, on the other hand, was barely 23. In some way, he had seemed invulnerable to her. Nine lives, like a cat. He was fearless, unruffled, relaxed, his endless calm soothed her. He had survived a difficult childhood, worlds away from the safe walls of Candlekeep that protected her, and she relished every story that he shared with her. Beneath the charming exterior was an intensely private man, she cherished the long nights they spent diving deeper and deeper into one another. He would open up to her, then the next day shut off completely. Words of eternal love were followed with sharp retorts and talk of everything he had left behind, of the life he lead before he met her.

He didn’t do it intentionally, she was sure of it. Permanence was anathema to Haer’Dalis’ view of life and existence, the bond they had frightened him. It frightened her, too. That was why he had shared his journal with her, to show her more of who he really was, why he _had_ to leave her. She, in a childish fit of anger, had burned the damn thing.

 _Haer’Dalis…_ She felt his hot hands cupping her jaw, she could see the relief in his eyes when her soul was returned to her, in this very same place. The internal struggle raging within him as they became more and more intertwined all but disappeared after that moment. He wanted her with him and him alone, to share only his bed, to spend their nights together. He wasn’t afraid of her falling pregnant anymore, he said that it would be the gods greatest gift to him. A rush of shame raced through her. How could she have thrown all of that away? How could she have felt so sorry for herself, that she would jump right into someone else’s bed? Why was she so _weak_?

Nessa told herself that Haer’Dalis had certainly already bedded Raelis Shai again, especially considering their long history together, but she knew better. Haer’Dalis was a loyal lover, and he expected the same of her. Any thought otherwise was just to assuage her guilty conscience, a paltry attempt to justify her own behavior.

Sarevok didn’t deserve any of this either, the man had been through enough. She had grown attached to him, as much as she tried not to, it was difficult considering how intimate they had become. He was powerful, a giant of a man in both body and spirit, with a cunning mind and a strong, agile body. His boyish human-ness was charming, underneath the anger and vitriol was a passionate, fiercely protective lover. Still, his jealous and possessive nature made her feel trapped, she tired of his constant attempts to dominate her. If her child were his....she shuddered at the thought. Sarevok a _father_? Two Bhaalspawn having a child, together? They could never be accepted by society in that way. Their child would be damned before they were even born.

Then there was the other issue, the one that disturbed her most. Sarevok was alive, in a sense, but was he truly a living creature? Was he undead? If some fraction of her divine essence kept him alive, what would happen if it was taken from her? What if she surrendered it? It didn’t seem possible that he could survive. The thought made her stomach tie up in knots.

_So much death._

She had to know what would happen if she chose to stay mortal, if that were even an option. What would happen to Sarevok if she died. Fuck Watcher’s Keep, she was tired of that idiotic maze and didn’t care much about some ‘ancient evil’. If the Helmites put it there, then they could take care of it themselves. She saw the way they looked at her, they probably were planning on locking her down there with whatever demon they were too afraid to face. Two birds with one stone.

Nessa slowly pushed herself back onto her knees and rose to standing, her legs shaking underneath her. If Haer’Dalis was truly dead, then a part of her had died with him. She wouldn’t lose her child, no matter what. She would tear down the heavens themselves if the anyone tried to take it from her. Something beautiful could come from all of this pain and suffering, a life out of a trail of death. She held onto that hope more tightly than any she had ever had before.

When she returned to the maze she startled the others, they jumped to their feet. She avoided their concerned looks and they stood there for a few moments, an awkward silence filling the cavern.

“Are you...ok?” Imoen asked, her voice cautious. A lump formed in Nessa’s throat when she looked up and saw Imoen’s creased brow and worried expression. Poppy stood beside her, the girl seemed confused.

“I’m fine, I...I went to see if I could…” Nessa took a deep breath and tried to stem the flow of tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “I thought maybe I could bring him here.” She avoided Sarevok’s gaze but she could feel his penetrating, burning eyes fixed on her.

“We have no time to mourn the dead, Nessa, we must continue if we shall ever find a way out of this cursed maze,” Jaheira added curtly. A surge of anger rushed through Nessa.

“He was a good man, Nessa, I...I’m sorry,” Valygar added. The ranger’s face was dark with fatigue and concern for Nessa. She had nearly thrown her life away after Haer’Dalis left the group, who knew what could happen if he had died. Nessa was holding on by a thread, he could sense it, beneath her calm surface there was a battle being waged between Bhaal and her humanity.

Sarevok remained silent, he scanned over Nessa’s face and noticed the dry tracks of tears and the splatters of blood. Her hands were bruised and bloodied as well. Her concern for the bard insulted him, how could she still care for such a weak, pathetic man? Jealousy burned in his heart, he was not one to share his lovers. Nessa was _his_ , they had not only their divine birthright, but also the bond forged by him taking some small fraction of her soul. He could _feel_ things, when he was near her, foreign emotions and memories slipped into his thoughts, his dreams were filled with images that he knew must be from Nessa’s past. His body ached to be near hers, each morning that he awoke he knew she would be gone, she insisted on keeping their relationship a secret from the others. It insulted him, but he tolerated it for the sake of those moments that he could have her, that he could _possess_ her, body and soul.

He found himself thinking less and less about her attaining godhood, and more about the sensation of her smooth, cool skin against his. The sounds she made while he took her again and again. The tenderness in her eyes when she caressed his face. She reminded him of his own humanity, of the simple joys of being alive. She made him question everything he had died for, before.

“I’m done here, we’re leaving,” Nessa commanded. Her sharp voice cut through Sarevok’s thoughts, dragging him back to the present.

“Leaving? But we have not finished our task!” Jaheira protested.

“Sounds good to me, this place is pretty boring.” Imoen held up a small bag of coins. “And _this_ is all the gold I’ve found! Not worth it, if you ask me.”

Jaheira shook her head. “No, Nessa, we must secure this place, lest the great evil escape and cut a path of destruction through the l--”

Nessa silenced her with a raised hand and a poisonous glare. “You can stay here as long as you would like, Jaheira, but I’ll be returning to Amkethran to face Balthazar tomorrow.” She turned to the others and waved her other arm out to them. “If anyone else would like to stay as well, feel free.”

“I wouldn’t mind some sunshine,” Valygar said, his voice quiet and gravelly. He avoided Jaheira’s death glare.

“Amkethran tomorrow?” Poppy asked, nervous. “Ar-are you sure that’s a g-good idea?”

“Do you have a better one?”

“Ah...no...I guess n-not.” Poppy looked down at her feet, she could see the challenge in Nessa’s stare.

“I have to speak with Anomen and Keldorn before I leave. If are you coming with me, be ready at dawn.” Nessa turned on her heels and stalked forward through the archway that marked the exit of the level.

“This is a most unfortunate turn of events,” Jaheira said, her expression dour. “I fear Nessa will lose what little control she has left over herself.”

“She is stronger than you can even imagine, druid,” Sarevok replied.

“Oh? Is that why she almost _died_? Of course.”

“After defeating not only a dragon, but also a half-dragon Bhaalspawn. Her power is beyond your understanding, woman, leave her be.” His eyes flickered with an amber flame. Jaheira sighed and waved her hand at him dismissively.

“Power is useless if not wielded appropriately, you of all people should know that, Sarevok.” Her accented voice hung on the last word, her steel blue eyes were fixed on him. The warrior turned his head and gave her a sinister smirk.

“You can do as you wish, half-breed, but _I_ know true power when I see it. My only mistake was not seeing it sooner.” The warrior strode past the others, his long legs carrying him swiftly after Nessa. _That is not a mistake I will make again._

Imoen glanced over at the others and then raced after Sarevok. She didn’t trust the man, but she wouldn’t leave Nessa’s side either. Not now, not ever.

“Cut them some slack, Jaheira, Nessa’s doing the best she can.” Valygar stepped forward and laid a single gloved hand on the druid’s leather-covered shoulder. The druid’s head hung down, defeated.

“Is she, Valygar? I do not know anymore.”

The ranger’s hand squeezed tightly. “She is. Sarevok can understand what she’s going through, let him help her. Imoen, too.”

“Help her?! The man is abomination, he destroys everything he touches! How can you be so foolish?” Jaheira’s head snapped up and turned to look over her shoulder at Valygar. She wrenched her shoulder out of his grasp. “He will take her power for himself, suck her dry! He is...he is a wraith! A murderer! A _beast_!”

“He was, Jaheira. Can’t a man change?” Valygar stared back at her, his dark brown face smooth, his deep eyes calm.

“Y-yes, of course, but…” Jaheira sputtered. “Not...not him!”

“Why not him?”

“So you have fallen under his foul influence as well?!” Jaheira cried.

Valygar let out a soft chuckle. “I don’t think so, but now that you mention it, I have been having these strange dreams…”

Jaheira scowled at him. “It is not the time for humor, Valygar.”

The ranger sighed and shook his head at Jaheira. “Nessa needs you, Imoen needs you. They need you to accept them for what they are and help them. The last thing they want is your judgment, they get enough of that from the world.”

Valygar’s words cut through the druid’s anger. She let out a long, slow exhale.

“Fine, you...you speak the truth. I have allowed my fears to cloud my better judgment I…” she paused as if at a loss for words. “I...I thank you, Valygar.” She gave the ranger a faint smile.

Valygar nodded and smiled back at her. He strode forward on silent feet after the others, and Jaheira and Poppy followed behind him.

As Valygar ducked through the doorway, Jaheira felt a hand on her elbow.

“Jaheira,” Poppy whispered, “can I...can I talk with you?”

“Of course child, but must we speak _now_? Jaheira replied, irritated.

“What I have to say is for you, and only you, from one Harper to another.” Poppy bit her lip, nervous.

Jaheira gave her a strange look. “Very well...what is it?”

Poppy glanced over at the doorway, as if to make sure they were alone. “You’re not wrong about Sarevok, not at all,” she whispered. She released her grip on Jaheira’s arm.

“What do you mean?” Jaheira’s thin brows furrowed.

“He’s not just a bad influence on Nessa, he’s...um, well, they are…”

“Spit it out child!”

“They are...intimate.” Poppy’s expression grew serious.

Jaheira laughed. “Is this some kind of joke? What is the meaning of this?”

Poppy shook her head. “Not a joke, Jaheira, I saw them. Together, a few nights ago. When we went to the pocket plane, after everyone had gone to bed.”

Jaheira felt like she could throw up. Of all of the things she had thought Sarevok capable of, of the poor decisions she feared Nessa would make, _this_ was beyond all comprehension.

“No, it can’t be…”

“I swear it, Jaheira. I couldn’t believe it either.”

“This defies the laws of nature! Nessa, how could she…” her voice trailed off. Her cheeks were flushed a bright red, angry thoughts swirled in her mind. If only Gorion could see her now, if he could see what she had become, he would wish he had never rescued her! Is this who Khalid, her precious Khalid, died for?!

“Should we tell the others?”

Jaheira sighed and held her hand to her forehead. “I am not certain, this is most...complicated.”

“Maybe we should let her go to Amkethran herself? I don’t think...well, I don’t think I can travel with her anymore. Not after what I saw.” Poppy’s full lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression severe.

“If we abandon her now then she will certainly die, you saw what happened after Abazigal!” Jaheira’s eyes shot up to meet Poppy’s.

“Perhaps that is what is best, Jaheira,” Poppy said softly. “If she has been led astray, who knows what she is capable of.”

“No,” Jaheira shook her head furiously, “no, I cannot leave her now, I gave Gorion my word, I must at least try...try to _help_ her…”

“She is beyond your help.”

Jaheira’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be so certain, Poppy? I believe that it was Sarevok who spared you, yes?”

Poppy shifted on her feet and averted her eyes from Jaheira’s piercing stare. “After killing the others, don’t forget. He is still a monster. There are some things you can’t atone for.”

“Is that so? I for one would not be eager to make Sarevok regret his mercy.”

Poppy’s cheeks flushed a bright red. “What are you saying, Jaheira? I...I am a fellow Harper, you cannot be defending that...that...monster!”

Jaheira’s eyes scanned over Poppy’s face, hunting for any hint of deception. Something wasn’t right about Poppy, she had her suspicions at first but now she was almost certain. She was too young, too inexperienced, even for a new recruit. But if it was merely an act, that would make much more sense. She would have to discuss this with Nessa. As well as the _other_ matter.

“We should join the others.” Jaheira spun on her heels and stalked forward with long strides. Poppy stood behind by herself and watched the druid walk away.

 

_If she stands with them, then she will die with them. **Traitor**_

 

 

_**\------------------------------** _

__

The others had already reached the Helmite encampment. High Watcher Oisig approached Nessa, obviously confused as to why they had returned, but she brushed past him without so much as a glance. She rushed towards Anomen’s tent and found Keldorn seated beside Anomen, both men peering over a scroll on the desk. Their heads shot up, startled at her approach.

“Good, you’re both here,” she said as she moved towards them.

“Nessa, is...have you finished the task?” Anomen stuttered.

“No, and I don’t plan on it. Sorry.”

“Ah, well that is probably for the best, considering your cond--.” Anomen’s voice stopped, his face frozen. Nessa groaned inwardly, how could she ever have thought that the priest could keep a secret. A Helmite priest, at that.

“Hmm?” Keldorn asked, his thick gray brows furrowed, “is something wrong, Nessa?”

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered under her breath. She heard heavy footsteps approaching the tent. God damn it Sarevok, not now!

The massive warrior ducked under the entry and stood behind her. She turned to look at him and tried to stifle a laugh, he was so tall that he had to bend over a bit to even fit in the tent. From his expression, she could tell that he wasn’t happy about it.

“You will tell me what is going on Nessa, and you will tell me now!” he roared. “No more secret meetings with this...priest.” His lips pulled back in a sneer at the last word.

Anomen’s face darkened with displeasure. “You should not speak to Nessa, or any woman, in such a manner, particularly not in _my_ tent!”

Sarevok let out a short, sinister laugh. “If you value your life, Helmite, you will hold your tongue before I rip it from your mouth.”

Anomen’s face flushed a dark red and he went to stand up from his chair, but was held back by Keldorn’s hand on his shoulder.

Nessa’s rage began to build again. How dare Sarevok come in here, uninvited, and make demands of her! Why did he have to insult everyone?!

She spun to face Sarevok. “You have no right to be here, and I don’t have to tell you what’s going on, it’s none of your business!” Her bright green eyes shone with a hint of an amber flame, matching the golden blaze of Sarevok’s. His jaw clenched, displeasure flashed across his face.

“I have every right to know what is going on between you and this pathetic excuse for a man,” he growled.

“There is nothing to know, and even if there were, it is none of your business.” She could feel a blush creeping into her own cheeks, Sarevok was telling them too much. His jealousy was completely out of control.

Sarevok’s lips curled into a cruel grin. He took a step closer to her and bent down, his face close to hers. She felt his hot breath against her skin and out of the corner of her eyes she saw Keldorn’s hand going to his sword.

“I am not your plaything, girl,” Sarevok snarled. There was anger in his eyes, but with it something else, something hidden beneath. Pain.

He gave her a final scowl and turned from her, his long legs carrying him back through the doorway and out into the Helmite camp. Nessa stood there for a moment, silent.

When she glanced over at Keldorn, she saw the paladin looking back at her with confusion in his clear blue eyes. Anomen’s expression was confused as well, but she knew that he had figured it out already. The Helmite was a bit slow to pick up on things, but not that slow. They would need to return to Amkethran soon, they weren’t safe with the Helmites anymore.

“I...I just came to say goodbye,” she said, stumbling awkwardly over her words. She didn’t want to offer any explanation for Sarevok’s actions, there was no point in it anyways.

“Thanks again, Anomen, for your help. Nessa flashed Anomen a smile. She had come there to ask them about Sarevok, if they knew anything about whether he could survive her giving up her divinity, if that was even an option. But it was too late for that, she needed to get out of there, sooner rather than later.

Keldorn opened his mouth to protest, but she didn’t see it, she had already turned away from them and slipped out of the tent on light, quick feet.

She scanned the camp for any sign of Sarevok, but saw nothing. Nessa hurried over to where Jaheira, Imoen and Valygar were standing.

“Nessa! What’s going on, Sarevok just went storming off into the woods?” Imoen gave Nessa a worried glance. “Is everything ok? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine Imoen,” Nessa replied and forced a smile. “Plans have changed, we need to leave soon. Be ready within the hour.”

“You must tell us what has happened, child, do we not deserve to know?” Jaheira demanded.

“I…” Nessa began. She stopped and glanced around. “Where’s Poppy?”

Jaheira’s face fell.

“What is it?” Nessa asked.

The druid looked back at her with guarded eyes. “She...I do not believe that she will be joining us.”

“What happened?”

“We...I…,” the druid stammered. “We should discuss this in private, Nessa.”

“Can it wait until after I find Sarevok?”

“Of course.” Jaheira’s eyes dropped. Her expression was troubled, she looked tired. Nessa felt a fleeting pang of guilt, she knew the half-elf worried about her. Now that Haer’Dalis might be dead, she understood Jaheira’s reaction to Khalid’s death even better. A few moments of weakness, of despair and mourning, then she had to pull herself back together. One foot in front of the other, day by day, she continued on her path. She hid her pain well.

Imoen pointed to the north. “He went that way.”

Nessa nodded. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

“Should we come with you? I can track him for you,” Valygar asked.

“No,” Nessa shook her head. “Get ready to leave, I’ll teleport us once I’m back with Sarevok.”

The others watched as she slipped into the thick underbrush of the woods surrounding Watcher’s Keep.

Unbeknownst to them, they were not the only ones watching.


	15. Antidote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This got longer than I had anticipated, it's more of a two-part chapter. Second part coming in the next week or so. Major character death warning. Trigger warning for rape themes, nothing graphic. Some ultraviolence as well.

I’ve been adding snippets from the lyrics of songs I find myself listening to over and over again while I write the chapter. Inspiration, I guess.

 

I am war, I am pain  
I am all you've ever slain  
I am tears in your eyes  
I am grief, I am lies

I am pure, I am true  
I am all over you  
I am laugh, I am smile  
I am the earth defiled

 

-Puritania, Dimmu Borgir

 

\---------------------------------------

 

“Again.”

Nessa closed her eyes and recited the spell incantation. A flicker of light shot forth from her fingers and three magic missiles slammed into the opposite wall, leaving a spot of charred, curled wallpaper.

She dared not look at him. Disapproval radiated from his very being, he _hated_ her. He veiled this punishment as ‘instruction’, he told Gorion that either she would submit to his tutelage or he would be forced to throw them both out of Candlekeep. For the safety of the others in the library, of course. Good old self-sacrificing, noble Ulruant. _Puke._

Nessa could sense him standing close behind her, he towered at least a head above her. She was tall for her age, but she was only 15, practically a baby in elven years. Ulruant didn’t approve of her receiving martial training from the guards, he thought it made her even more dangerous. It seemed laughable to her, at the time, but lately the visions and dreams had been intensifying. Every night she was visited by a new nightmare, a voice that she somehow recognized, it was as comforting as it was repulsive.

There was something wrong with her, and it seemed that Gorion and Ulruant, at least, knew exactly what _it_ was. Why would they hide the truth from her? She could see all of the pieces, but she had no idea how they fit together. She was an elf, not a demon or god or anything, but her powers far exceeded the amount of training she had received. Something was amiss.

Ulruant’s breaths were slow, as languid as his demeanor. He was a severe man, full of an easily-wounded pride that outstripped his abilities. She would come to learn to fear and mistrust such a quality in men.

“I do not abide lies and _deceit_ , Nessa.”

She felt her muscles tense involuntarily. There was an edge of steel in his voice, it frightened her.

“I...I do not know what you mean, Ul--Master Ulruant.” She corrected herself quickly, he became enraged if she did not address him by his ‘proper’ title.

The end of the mage’s staff pressed into her back, painfully poking between her ribs.

“You may fool the others, but you do not fool _me_. Tell me where you learned that spell.”

Nessa’s mind calculated possible responses and outcomes. In the future she knew better, for a man such as Ulruant, there is no answer that will satisfy. It is better to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, to confess anything and everything that they wish to hear.

“Master Ulruant, I-I do not understand, I...but you have just taught it to me..” Nessa grasped for words and decided to stick with the truth. So young, so naive. _Trusting_.

“Lies?! How dare you!” he cried and pulled back his staff and smacked it across the back of her head. The blow caught Nessa by surprise and sent her staggering forward. She clutched a pale hand to the back of her head and felt a fast-growing patch of wet. Blood streamed from the wound on her scalp, he had split her skin open.

“Now look at what you have done, mongrel, don’t you dare drip any of your foul blood on my things!” The disgust in his voice, it wounded her more than his staff. An odd sensation stirred from deep within her, something like an emotion, only stronger….was it anger?

She pulled her hand back and glanced at it. Crimson blood smeared over her fingers. It was still warm, she could smell the sharp metallic scent and feel the slipperiness of it as she rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. Something snapped. Wrath ignited in the core of her being, her shame and sadness kindled its flames and stoked it to a raging fire. She spun around to face the wizard, her emerald green eyes shining with fury.

“Don’t touch me again, Ulruant,” she hissed, her thin lips pulled back to reveal a row of white, unusually sharp teeth. She had a feral look to her, hygiene was never much of a consideration and she spent most of her time reading or training with her swords. Her black hair was wild and untamed, forced into a messy braid that trailed down her back.

The older mage looked back at her with steely, dark blue eyes that glittered from beneath heavy white brows. A smile crept across his wrinkled, sallow lips.

“It is I, girl, who gives the commands here,” he said, his voice thick with malice. “And I shall touch you as much as it pleases me.”

Nessa had never experienced a hold person spell before. She didn’t know that the victim would remain conscious, aware of everything that happened to them, but entirely unable to protest, cry for help, or fight back.

The events that transpired in that next hour were memories that would haunt Nessa’s sleepless nights. She was a child, a young girl, she had never been intimate with anyone. Ulruant was not gentle in his punishment of her, his _domination_ of her. Afterwards he threatened her with expelling her and Gorion from Candlekeep if she told anyone, he forced her to remain silent. He said that he would do the same thing to Imoen if she didn’t go along with whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

It was the first time she had been raped, but it would not be the last. It some strange way, it prepared her for Irenicus, she learned how to compartmentalize the experience, to detach herself from it and focus on surviving. She wouldn’t let him win, she wouldn’t let him take everything from her. Ulruant could have her body, he could sate his appetite for elven girls, but he would never break her.

He was no different from the slavers she massacred, sure he clothed himself in the trappings of the ‘good’ and ‘holy’, but Nessa knew better. They were all the same, they lived in a chess game of rules, of obedience and transgression. Domination and submission. “Good” men like him were always filling their side of the scale with noble deeds done for the sake of their vanity and pride, as if they would somehow balance the weight of their souls, compensate for their darkest sins. Cowards, all of them. They were always afraid to die, they begged the most for their lives.

To her, it was the blood of abusers that tasted the sweetest. She relished watching the life pour out of them, the realization of their mortality flashing in their eyes. Nessa made _them_ feel powerless, and she enjoyed every moment of it.

 

\---------------------------------

 

Poppy darted through the Helmite camp on light feet, casting furtive glances over her shoulder to ensure no one caught sight of her. She ducked into a small tent on the south side of the makeshift settlement.

A young man jumped from his seat, startled. “C-can I help you?” he stammered.

“Where is Sir Keldorn?”

A deep voice resonated from the back of the tent. “I am here, child, what do you wish from me now?” A tall, armored figure strode out from the shadows. A broad, tanned face full of scars and the lines of a hard-won life. He gestured for the recruit to leave the tent.

“Sir Keldorn,” she said and bowed slightly out of respect.

“That...is not necessary.” He waved his hand at her dismissively. “Please, be at ease. What has brought you here, have I not done my part?” She could see a hint of anger in his clear blue eyes, mixed with something that she could only describe as sadness.

“Of course, and the Harpers appreciate your assistance. Renfeld sends his greatest thanks, he has already spoken with your superiors in Athkatla.” Poppy flashed him her most charming smile. “Tethyr is all but forgotten.”

Keldorn let out a slow sigh. “I...send Renfeld my regards. This has been a most unpleasant ordeal, I look forward to leaving this godforsaken place.”

“Yes, surely your family awaits your return. Unfortunately, there has been a complication.”

Keldorn’s eyebrow shot up. “Oh?”

“Nessa was informed that some man by the name of Haer’Dalis has died, it upset her greatly. I assume it was another of her past lovers?”

Keldorn’s face darkened, he nodded gravely. “Yes, he travelled with her still when I took my leave, if he died and he was not with her…” He frowned. “I cannot imagine Nessa has taken the news well.”

“She has decided to leave Watcher’s Keep, by tomorrow.”

“I am aware, she came to Anomen’s tent not long ago, she told both of us that she could not complete the task. I was not aware of Haer’Dalis’ death.”

Poppy took a step closer to Keldorn. She reached into her armor and pulled out a letter and held it up to show Keldorn.

“Renfeld sent instructions to me, before we left Amkethran, to finish the job myself if Nessa did not perform the ritual. Others have been sent here as well. We require the aid of the Helmites, it is imperative that Nessa and her siblings do not leave this place alive. They _must_ be stopped.”

Keldorn’s stomach twisted in knots. “What of Jaheira and Valygar?”

“Jaheira has defied her superiors repeatedly, if she defends the Bhaalspawn then she will die with them. Valygar, too. He comes from a cursed line of necromancers, do not forget.”

“So it has come to this…” the paladin murmured.

Poppy extended her hand to him, offering the letter. “Your full pardon is here, Sir Keldorn, the Order has offered a generous sum to you and your family to compensate for your long absences and service to the greater good.” She smiled warmly. “The Harpers remember their friends.”

Keldorn plucked the letter from her hand and clutched it in his own. “I leave at dawn, I will return to my home and my wife and children.” His steely eyes met hers, he offered her no smile. “I have done my part. Begone.”

“If you refuse to assist us, then we ask only that you do not interfere.”

“Yes, yes,” Keldorn snapped. He gestured towards the opening of the tent. “You may take your leave.”

Poppy gave him a small smirk. “Of course. Farewell, Sir Keldorn.”

Keldorn walked back to the corner of the tent and slumped down into a chair. How had it come to this? He had traded Nessa for his own security, for the sake of his family. He cared for her, a great deal, but no amount of hope could change what she was. What Sarevok was. Imoen, even.

_What have I done._

 

\---------------------------------

 

Nessa was no skilled tracker, but fortunately Sarevok was also no small man. She followed his heavy footprints through the damp forest, his boots left obvious imprints in the soil.

 _Where the hell are you going, Sarevok…_ she muttered to herself as she clambered over thick underbrush. Her robes caught on thorns, she cursed while attempting to rip them from the offending branches. She had no love for the forests, wildnerness was just that: wild. Nessa preferred the cities, the commotion and the sounds and smells.

She was at a disadvantage in this environment, there were too many trees and bushes to hide behind. The sun was beginning to set and she desperately wanted to get the hell out of this damned place and get back to Amkethran. Maybe they should spend another night in the pocket plane, it would be safer there. An outline of blue began to creep between the trunks of seemingly endless trees, surely she was approaching the shoreline by now. It hadn’t seemed like much of a distance but the terrain was difficult to cross. The cries of seabirds echoed in the distance.

Finally she emerged from the thicket and found herself on a long beach that curved around to the west, she was on the north side of it. Watcher’s Keep towered over the forest to the south. A gust of salt-filled air rushed past her, blowing tendrils of sweat-soaked hair from her face. Nessa strained to peer down the shoreline, she could see no sign of Sarevok. The footprints continued in a broken line down the rocky beach and she followed close behind them, checking every few moments for any signs of unwanted guests. Something felt...wrong. Her blood thrummed with anticipation. She had come to learn the signs of an impending conflict, it was as if the taint somehow knew bloodshed awaited.

The grey skies were filled with a thick blanket of clouds. A light mist began to fall, adding to the bleak, dismal picture of the gray-blue waves and rocky coastline. She tugged her cloak tighter around her, it was the early days of autumn and the winds were beginning to blow from the north.

The footsteps continued to a sandier portion of beach, then stopped. There was an imprint as if Sarevok had been sitting on the ground, then a few more footsteps, then… _gods, no._ There were signs of a struggle, more footprints coming from the forest to the south. Adrenaline raced through her and her eyes shot up to scan the treeline for any signs of movement. She glanced back down at the ground and saw a trail of blood-soaked sand, it looked as if a body had been dragged to the trees.

She hesitated to follow the tracks, especially alone. The thought of Sarevok coming to any harm made her insides twist with rage, she would _mutilate_ anyone that dared touch him. But she was no use to him if she got captured herself. If this was some sort of trap then she would just have to beat them at their own game, whoever the hell they were. She gave a last glance at the forest line and murmured the words of an illusion incantation to herself. Mislead. She would leave her decoy on the beach and venture into the woods a short distance.

Nessa crept forward on light feet, making sure to step into the other footprints that lead to the woods. Her decoy stood motionless on the beach, its face turned towards the waves crashing against the rocky shore.

She heard low voices as soon as she approached the thick underbrush.

“I told you she wasn’t stupid, she’s not going to come in here,” a man’s voice whispered.

“Shut up, she’ll come eventually, she’s not going to leave without him. Trust me.” a woman replied. The voice sounded familiar, but it was too soft to recognize.

Blonde hair peeked out from above the brush. Nessa knew she didn’t have long to find Sarevok before the spell broke, she had to find out how many people she was up against. _Two so far_...the woman shifted on her feet and a single cornflower-blue eye peered out through the tangled leaves and branches. Nessa’s heart froze. _Poppy_.

She had been betrayed from within her own group, that little Harper bitch had fooled them all. Betrayed Sarevok, even though he had spared her life. So much for gratitude. A fleeting worry crossed her mind, what if Jaheira was with them? What if Jaheira...she shook the thought from her mind. There was no way Jaheira would agree to an ambush, she hated Sarevok, sure, but she wasn’t a coward. Nessa gritted her teeth and carefully stepped past Poppy and the other man, she caught a glimpse of a pin on his cloak. _Fucking Harpers._

Behind them there were three other Harpers, what appeared to be one mage and two rogues. Assassins, if she had to guess. She choked back a gasp, Sarevok laid behind them, prone. Motionless. They had stripped his armor off of him and thrown it aside, she strained to see if his chest was moving, if she could see him take a breath. A mixture of frothy blood and spit streamed from the corner of his mouth and there was a pool of blood that was seeping out onto the soft earth around him. Poison, most likely. The bastards had ambushed him, stabbed him in the back with a poisoned blade. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing, and she didn’t have time to stand there and figure out if he was still alive or not. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, her slender fists clenched around the pommels of her blades.

She threw up her spell protections and lurched forward, her blades withdrawn and aimed at the mage’s neck. The woman’s head rolled onto the ground before she realized what had even happened.

“Shit!” the man yelled from behind her. Nessa felt one of the assassin’s blades pierce her robes and cut into her left flank. She bit back a cry as her spell contingencies went off, turning her skin to stone and greatly speeding up her attacks. Nessa descended on the assassin’s, her blades meeting theirs in loud clangs. Arrows from Poppy and the other man bounced off of her skin and robes, she was invulnerable to them.

“You should have never touched him,” she hissed as she swung her sword across the belly of the first assassin, her blade sliced through the leather armor and deep into the flesh beneath. The man clutched his abdomen, blood pouring through his fingertips as he fell to his knees. Nessa laughed as she ducked to avoid a strike from the other assassin. She was young, dark-haired like Nessa, her long locks hidden beneath a forest green hood.

“Is this who the Harpers send after us? Is this the best you can do?” Nessa’s voice had a coldness to it that even she herself didn’t recognize. She laughed again and gave the girl a malicious grin as she stormed towards her.

“You can kill us but others will come! We know what you are, what you are capable of!” the girl cried.

Nessa’s grin widened. “Oh, you have _no_ idea what I’m capable of.” She knocked the girl’s dagger from her hand and grabbed her by the throat. Their eyes met, the assassin was surprised by Nessa’s strength. The elf lifted her off the ground and then looked to the side. The others had thrown down their bows and were coming at her with their swords drawn. Nessa turned quickly, still holding the girl, and the man was unable to stop himself before his sword plunged into the assassin’s back. Nessa threw the girl forward, the assassin landed on the man with a heavy thud and knocked him to the ground.

“I have the antidote, he will die without it.” Nessa spun around to face Poppy. “If you don’t listen to me, I’ll destroy it!” Poppy’s hands were shaking as she reached into her bag to pull out a flask. “I’m serious!” she cried, gripping her hand around the glass, “I’ll smash it and he’ll be dead before you get back to camp!”

Nessa’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure that you know what you’re doing?”

“Come back to camp with me, turn yourself in, and we’ll let him live!” Poppy continued. Her chest rose and fell with heavy, fast breaths.

Nessa took a step closer to her. “You’re a fool if you think I believe that for one minute.”

Poppy clenched the flash more tightly. “Stay back!” she cried, her voice cracking.

 _Kill her, my child. Bathe in her blood._ Nessa shook her head, as if to shake the voices from her ears. She wanted to rip Poppy’s hearts out, spit her on her swords and spill her innards on the blood-soaked earth.

“You betrayed us,” Nessa hissed, “Sarevok spared your life!”

“He killed everyone! He is a _demon_ , and you brought him back! You brought this on everyone!”

“Everyone?” Nessa’s heart sank. “What...what did you do to the others?”

Poppy gave her a small smirk. “They are in good hands.”

“They have done nothing wrong! Jaheira, she is one of you! What is this?!”

“Jaheira has chosen a different path. They all sealed their fate when they threw their lot in with a _Bhaalspawn_ , three Bhaalspawn, to be exact. Children of Murder, all of you, cursed...do you know what Sarevok did to my family? To my home? Raided by bandits, crippled by the iron shortage,” Poppy’s cheeks flushed bright pink. “I won’t let you or your brother hurt anyone else.”

“Killing us isn’t going to change anything, Poppy.” Nessa struggled to stay calm, she knew how the Harpers worked, they had a number of poisons that they used that only they had the antidote for. Certainly Poppy wasn’t holding the actual antidote flask, but she was young and stupid so it was possible. Nessa glanced over at Sarevok. He was ashen, his skin no longer had its usual warm, golden glow, instead it had a dull cast of grayish-green. Time was running out.

“Give me the antidote, Poppy, and I’ll give you a quick, painless death.” Nessa’s deep green eyes were unblinking in the fading light of the setting sun. “If not, I’ll let Sarevok have his way with you.”

Poppy swallowed hard, the flask rattled in her trembling hands. “He’ll die before I let you have it.”

“If he dies, so do you. There’s no escaping it now, Poppy, you’ve given me no other choice.”

“The others know where we are, they will come for you.” Beads of sweat pooled on Poppy’s temples.

“You can’t stop me, and you were fools to try.” There was no anger in Nessa’s expression, nor regret. It was a simple fact. She was too powerful for the Harpers to stop, if she could defeat the most powerful of the Bhaalspawn, she could easily defeat a ragtag bunch of self-righteous nitwits. “Give it up, you brought this on yourself.”

Poppy glanced over at Sarevok, then back at Nessa. Before the elf could stop her, she threw her head back and drained the bottle down her throat. “Damn it!” Nessa cried as she rushed forward, but it was too late. Poppy sank down to the ground, her hands clutching her throat. She shook violently as blood-speckled foam began to pour from her mouth. So she wasn’t so stupid after all, the ‘antidote’ was a fake, an even stronger poison. Nessa shoved the girl roughly onto her back and began to rifle through the girl’s armor as Poppy’s body convulsed. She fished out a letter from the girl’s tunic, and a bundle of flasks from her waist belt.

 _Poppy_ the letter began. _Inform Sir Keldorn that his full pardon has been arranged. The others will arrive at the Keep within 5 days of your arrival, keep Nessa occupied until then. Should she attempt to leave before the task is completed, stop her. At any cost. Give Sir Keldorn our thanks and good luck to you. We will soon cleanse the earth of the Bhaalspawn’s foul presence, you will bring justice down on their cursed heads. Godspeed. -B”._

_Keldorn…_ Nessa clutched the letter in her hand, it crumpled between her fingers. She had to get back the others, and fast. Poppy was already dead, so were the two assassins and the mage. The man underneath the assassin, however, was very much alive and struggling to get out from under the corpse of his comrade. Nessa stormed over to him, the bag of potions in her other hand. She tucked the letter into her robes and crouched down to roll the body off of the man. He looked up at her with terror in his eyes and went to grab his sword, but found in caught in Nessa’s iron grip. “Not so fast,” she said, wagging her finger at him. 

“We’re going to play a game.” She held up the satchel to show it to him. “You tell me which of these is the antidote, and I kill you before Sarevok gets his hands on you.”

The man shook his head and spat at her. “Never,” he muttered between gritted teeth.

Nessa chuckled at him and wiped the spit from her cheek. “Alright then, we’ll play a different game. I’m going to start pouring these down your throat, and we’ll see which one of them is poison and which is antidote.” The man’s eyes opened wide. Nessa dropped the potions to the ground beside her and pulled a sword from her waist. “First, let’s make sure you don’t go anywhere.” The man watched in horror as she grabbed his arm and pulled it out to the side, then drove her sword clean through it and into the ground beneath him. He screamed out in pain and struggled against her as she reached for his other arm. “We didn’t have to do it this way,” she said as she pinned his other arm down to the ground and straddled his torso. She pulled his short sword from his waist and drove it through like a stake.

“If you keep fighting, I’ll do it to your legs too,” she said as she stood up and brushed the dirt from her robes. “Now,” she reached for the satchel and opened it, then withdrew four different flasks of liquid. They were all the same color, a clear shade of moss green, but their bottles were various shapes. One a long cylinder, another a short square, the third a small rectangle, the fourth a squat, gourd-like shape.

“Which is it?” she asked, showing him the four bottles. The man’s lips were drawn back, his breaths raspy as he struggled to free himself.

“Tsk tsk,” Nessa said, shaking her head. “The more you move your arms, the more it’s going to hurt. Pay attention, which flask?” She ignored his cries for mercy and uncorked the first bottle.

“This one looks promising. Bottoms up.” She crouched down and gripped his jaw, her strong fingers prying his lips and teeth apart. He tried to wrench his head from her grasp but her grip was too strong, she wasn’t even breaking a sweat. She held the long cylindrical bottle to his lips and gripped the back of his head with her other hand, forcing him to tilt his head back.

“N-no, please, god, no,” he cried, struggling to move his mouth away from the flask. “That-that’s..p-poison.”

“Good, now we’re getting somewhere.” Nessa threw the bottle over her shoulder and grabbed another.

“Gods help me, I don’t know which one is the antidote!” the man stammered between cries of pain. Nessa bent down towards him, her face only inches from his.

“If he dies, I’ll rip your guts out through your fucking chest.” She gripped his jaw and shook it, her eyes were aflame with anger, fear and disgust. “Your gods won’t help you, noone will. As far as you’re concerned,I am your god.”

She glanced back over her shoulder at Sarevok. He was still, too still. Fear surged through her. God damnit, she wouldn’t let him die.

Her grip tightened on the man’s jaw, she could feel his bones beginning to crack under the force of her grasp. He whimpered in pain, his eyes began to roll back into his head.

“TELL ME WHICH ONE IS THE ANTIDOTE,” Nessa roared. She grabbed the short, square bottle and uncorked it and poured it down the man’s throat. Then she saw it, the flash in his eyes that she had been waiting for. No fear, no hesitation, he knew that this one wouldn’t harm him. It was the antidote.

She kicked the other two bottles over to him. “If I were you, I’d figure out a way to drink them.” Nessa left the man struggling against the swords pinning down his arms, she ignored his groaning as he pulled his flesh against the sharp edges of the blades. She rushed to Sarevok’s side and knelt beside him, unable to stop her hands from tracing over the strong lines of his ashy, gray-cast face. She bent down to press a kiss against his full, soft lips, her chin brushed against the rough hairs of his goatee. Her fingers ghosted across the smooth skin of his shaved scalp, gods, he was so cold. Nessa’s hands trembled as she gently pried his lips open and pressed the bottle between them. She poured the green liquid into his mouth, then slipped her arms beneath him to try to lift him up, she struggled under his enormous weight.

“Come on,” she groaned as she hoisted him up, hoping it was enough to let the liquid go down his throat. She held him like that for a few moments, her arms wrapped tightly around him, her head bent down and pressed against his shoulder. Moments passed like hours.

“Don’t go Sarevok, please, you can’t go…please,” she whispered. Tears streamed down her face and mixed with the blood splattered across her skin. If he was dead, it was her fault, she shouldn’t have hidden the truth from him, she shouldn’t have been such a coward. “Wake up,” she sobbed, rocking him back and forth in her arms. “I’m sorry...I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly Sarevok’s muscles tensed and Nessa found herself being flung across the ground. The warrior snarled at her as he staggered to his feet, his eyes glazed over and his breaths ragged. He wiped the blood-tinged foam from his mouth and looked at it for a moment, confused, then his eyes darted back up to meet Nessa’s.

“Sarevok!” she cried, the relief clear in her voice. He glared back at her with blazing amber eyes, she was relieved to see some of the ashiness of his face begin to disappear. The anger in his expression turned to confusion, then to some emotion that she couldn’t quite read.

“Nessa...what happened…?” he asked. He went to take a step towards her but his legs buckled, she rushed back to him to catch him as he pitched forward. She groaned as his full weight fell on her, she struggled to keep him upright.

“They--poisoned--you.” She fought to get the words out as she helped lower him back down to the ground. “I just gave you the antidote, or at least, what I think was the antidote.”

Sarevok’s eyes roved over her face, taking in the blood sprayed across her cheeks and hair, the wound in her side. He looked past her at the man pinned to the ground with swords, from the sounds of it he was near death. “Clever,” he replied, a smirk of approval tugging at his lips. “Who are they?”

Nessa reached into her pocket and grabbed a pin that she had taken from one of the assassin’s hoods. “Harpers.”

Sarevok’s face darkened and his fists clenched. “They ambushed me, I remember hearing movement, then a flash of pain and afterwards...nothing. Darkness.”

Nessa reached out to touch his face again, to her relief some of his normal heat had returned to his skin. Her fingertips rested on his cheek, her palms cupped his strong jaw. She didn’t try to fight the tears that poured down her face.

“I thought I had lost you,” she whispered. Sarevok’s eyes were their usual light golden brown again, they darted back and forth across her face as if they were searching for something. He leaned forward and grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her towards him. His lips pressed against hers, he roughly forced his tongue into her mouth and she could taste the sharp, metallic notes of his blood. She melted into him, her body relaxing as it slumped against his. “Sarevok…” she murmured between kisses, shivering as his lips and teeth traveled down her neck. Her hands wrapped around his back and slid across his broad, muscular torso. His wet torso. He flinched in pain.

“Your wound!” she cried, pulling herself away from him. “You’ll bleed out, no wonder you almost fell down.” Nessa rummaged through her potion bag and pulled out a particularly strong, expensive potion that she had reserved for emergencies. Sarevok watched her every movement as she opened the bottle and held it up, offering it to him. They were surrounded with corpses, Nessa’s vengeance had been terrible indeed. It was...most impressive.

He drank down the draught and shivered as the cool relief rushed through him. He could feel his wound mending, the muscles and skin regrowing and joining back together. The poison had fatigued him, but he felt mostly recovered.

Nessa smiled at him and he fought the impulse to make love to her there and then, in the midst of their slain opponents. Those who would oppose them.

“We are unstoppable,” he rumbled, his body burning with desire. Nessa felt it too, the longing that brought her to his bed again and again. Equal parts pleasure and pain. The groans of the dying Harper snapped them both out of their lust-fuelled haze. Nessa’s stomach sank as she saw the malice glittering in Sarevok’s eyes. This was the side of Sarevok that she did not want to see, or experience, ever again. The Sarevok she feared, the Sarevok she killed.

“Let him bleed out,” she said, her hand darting forward to grab his shoulder. He stopped and stared back at her, surprised.

“You’re alive, that’s all that matters.” Nessa crept forward on her hands and knees and climbed up onto his lap, she hiked up her robes so her legs could wrap around his hips and waist. She brought her face close to his, grinning to herself as she felt the way his body reacted to her touch, her nearness. They need to go back, to help the others, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from him.

“Nessa…” His voice was deep, ragged with longing. He was powerless under her gaze, under the gentle, tender way her hands slid across his skin. His teeth grazed the smooth skin of her throat, his fingers gripped at her thighs. She ground herself against him, stifling soft moans as his hand slid between her legs.

“Let me kill him.” Sarevok’s hand caressed her with a dexterity that seemed impossible for a man of his size, his fingers worked over her and she melted under his touch. His voice smooth like honey, she knew he didn’t just want to kill the man, he wanted to play with him. Punish him for daring to cross them, punish him for such a cowardly ambush.

“Sarevok, please,” she pleaded, between groans of pleasure. His fingers pressed harder, digging deeper into her, she bucked against his hand.

“Let me kill him,” Sarevok murmured again. His other hand slipped behind her neck and pulled her into him, his mouth crashed into hers and suddenly she couldn’t feel anything but his fingers circling around her, his tongue caressing hers, the fire of his desire pressed against her.

“Yes,” she whispered, between kisses. He stopped, his eyes burning into hers. His lips spread into a wide, mirthless smile.

“Come, Nessa.” He leaned forward and pushed himself to standing, her legs still wrapped around his waist. Sarevok lowered her slowly to the ground, shivering as her long, lithe body slid across his. She watched him walk past her, towards the man who was certainly almost dead. A momentary regret flitted through her mind, but she brushed it away. It was replaced with anticipation, a strange excitement as Sarevok crouched down beside the man and gave one of the swords a slight twist. The smirk that came to her lips matched Sarevok’s.

Sarevok would make the Harper pay for everything they had done, for all of her fear, all of his pain. Even if she could stop him, she didn’t want to, not anymore.


	16. Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I have been so slow to update, I don't have any excuse other than "waaaah writing is hard". This chapter is short, but the next one will be long and angsty. I've got a little one shot to add in as well, for two NPCs, there will be a brief respite before the end of ToB. Thx for reading!
> 
> Oh yeah, warning for implied major character death.

No one ever seemed to realize that nothing escaped Imoen’s notice. She was already observant before her time in Irenicus’ ‘care’, and her experiences with him served to make her even more cautious. Her constant, lingering paranoia kept her keen eyes ever watchful. She didn’t trust anyone, except for the people she met before falling into Irenicus' hands. Jaheira and Nessa, she trusted them with her life. Nessa had risked everything to save her and Imoen would never forget it. 

There was something going on between Sarevok and Nessa, that much was clear. She could see the anger in Sarevok’s eyes when Nessa disappeared to try to summon Haer’Dalis, his jealousy was as clear as day. Their half-brother...the thought made her stomach turn. Yet still she trusted Nessa, nothing would make her abandon her half-sister, _nothing_. She would help Nessa get rid of their divine blood or else she would die trying, she couldn’t live like this forever. The whispers, the urges, the nightmares, they never stopped. 

She sat at a spent campfire with Jaheira and Valygar, the three were silent. The camp itself was more quiet than it had seemed days earlier, the Helmites kept to their tents and no one approached them. Sarevok had run off, angry about who-knows-what, and of course Nessa went after him. They were instructed to wait. And so she did, she waited and she _watched_.

There was an odd group of what she presumed to be adventurers who had passed by them, a little while before Nessa ran after Sarevok. Four of them, two women and two men, one of them a mage and the others carrying blades. She ignored them as they walked past her and the others, but out of the corner of her eye she could see them staring at her. Her fingers began to tingle, her heartbeat quickened, there was a sense of unease in the air. She had brushed it off as nerves, but she felt the taint stirring in the back of her mind. Her divine blood protected her, in some strange way, but she didn’t fully trust it. 

It was odd that Keldorn hadn’t greeted them, after all the time they had spent traveling together she assumed that he would be glad to see them again. Especially since they were leaving soon.

Why didn’t he sit with them, catch up on what had gone on since he left? She hadn’t seen him at all, in fact. Then there was the matter of Poppy, she _still_ hadn’t shown back up. Something felt off. 

Imoen couldn’t shake the thought that something was very, very wrong. 

Jaheira was more quiet than usual, she kept her head bowed and her eyes on the ground between her feet. Valygar sat back and stared up at the dimming evening sky, but Imoen could see tension in the way he kept his arms folded tightly across his chest. 

Imoen saw _them_ approach, clad in leather armor with dark green tunics and hoods. She wasn’t with Nessa when they dealt with the Harpers in Athkatla, so she didn’t recognize their uniform. Jaheira, however, did. The hoods, the pins, the smug confidence on their faces as they drew closer. 

Jaheira looked up at Imoen, panicked, and Imoen’s light blue eyes grew large. Suddenly everything clicked. Nessa was alone, Sarevok was alone, the group was separated. It was the perfect opportunity for them to strike, it was their best chance to overcome the Bhaalspawn. 

Imoen’s faded pink braids flew through the air as she jumped to her feet, a series of spell protections going off, hardening her skin, making her invulnerable to weak weapons. It all made sense, Poppy’s sudden absence, the strangers in the camp. The hair on her arms and neck raised, electricity crackled in the air as she felt the divine essence within her ignite.

“Apprehend them!” a woman in front yelled, a human with long blonde hair and tan, freckled skin. 

“Where is Nessa?” Jaheira cried as she scrambled to stand up. Valygar’s hand was already at his side, ready to draw his sword. 

“Keldorn!” Imoen screamed, her head swung around as she looked for the paladin. He was nowhere to be seen. The few Helmites walking about quickly scurried into their tents. 

“It’s an ambush,” Valygar murmured, loud enough for only Jaheira and Imoen to hear. “I doubt anyone here is going to help us.”

“We must cooperate, we must avoid bloodshed,” Jaheira said, her hand going out to grasp Imoen’s arm. “Imoen? Do you hear me?”

Imoen didn’t hear her. All Imoen could hear was the pounding of her heartbeat, the rush of blood past her ears, the thrumming of the magical power flooding through her. She waited for a sign, her eyes were fixed on the Harpers standing before them. A half-elf standing beside the leader drew back his bow, the arrow pointed at Imoen’s heart. That was all she needed. 

A cold grin crossed her small, pale face, her blue eyes darkened to almost black. 

Time stopped. An impossibly dark blade appeared in her hands, a blade-shaped planar rift. She rushed forward, her hasted body a blur as she darted through the frozen forms of the Harpers. Imoen knew how to find their vulnerabilities, her blade slashed through the weakness in their armor, draining them of their power and even disintegrating one of the younger men. When time began normally again, two lay dead, one disintegrated, and one was dying. 

Imoen reached down and grabbed the hair of the leader, the blonde woman, and pulled her head back to look up at her. The woman groaned, a pool of blood was growing rapidly beneath her. 

“Where is Nessa?” Imoen hissed. Jaheira tried to rush forward towards them, but Valygar grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Jaheira looked back at him, her face contorted with anger, but Valygar merely shook his head. 

Imoen wrenched the woman’s head up. “ **Where is my sister**?!” she screamed, her voice ragged. 

“We’ve got company,” Valygar whispered to Jaheira. The druid glanced around and saw that Helmites were gathering, they were looking on in horror at Imoen and talking in hushed tones amongst themselves.

Imoen screamed again in frustration and threw the woman back down on the dirt face-first. She stood up and clutched the black blade in her hand, her chest rising and falling with shallow, hurried breaths. She looked up at Jaheira, her cute, round face now dappled with droplets of blood, her soft pink lips pulled back, revealing her jagged, crooked teeth. The scar that dragged across her eyebrow and cheek seemed more sinister, her empty eyes sucked all of the light into them. “Imoen…,” Jaheira gasped.

“I know these pins, these are _Harpers_! What have you done, Jaheira? Where’s Poppy? Did you know about this?” Imoen demanded, her voice growing more shrill. “You wanted to come here, I _told you_ it was a bad idea!” Imoen took a few steps closer to Jaheira, her knuckles white as she gripped her sword. “You _knew_ it was a trap.”

Jaheira sputtered, too shocked for words. “Child...how could think…” 

“I am not a child,” Imoen snarled. 

“I would never betray Nessa, I have traveled with you since the beginning, I have...I have lost...everything,” Jaheira’s voice choked on the last word. 

Jaheira’s sudden vulnerability snapped Imoen out of her rage. Images of Khalid laid open on a table flashed in her mind. She staggered backwards a few steps and clutched her forehead with her free hand. 

“That is enough,” a deep, male voice intoned. The three turned to look at the source, and were shocked to see Keldorn standing a short distance away from them. He had three Helmite priests with him, and Anomen was standing off in the distance. His hand was hovering over his mace and his thick eyebrows were knitted with concern. 

“Keldorn? Please, they have Nessa…” Imoen began, but Keldorn held up a hand to silence her. 

“Enough. This ends here, now.” Keldorn nodded and the clerics beside him moved forward towards her. 

“What are you doing?” Jaheira demanded. She looked over at the paladin, her heart thundering in her chest. “Keldorn, what is this meaning of this?!”

“There has been enough death here,” the paladin replied, his jaw steeled and his eyes guarded. 

Jaheira’s gut twisted in knots. She scanned back and forth between the Harpers, Keldorn, Anomen, the Helmites surrounding them. “No…,” she gasped, her breath catching in her chest. “No...it couldn’t be…” Her mouth dropped open in horror and her eyes met Keldorn’s. Her whole body was trembling with anger. “You...YOU did this?!”

The letter from Keldorn, the sudden urgency, Poppy’s hesitation to leave before the task was completed. _Of course_. Imoen was right, it _was_ a trap. There was no victory at the bottom of the Keep, only a grave. 

“Why…” Imoen whispered, the blood drained from her face. Her hand loosened and the planar rift blade fell to the ground and disappeared. 

“Look at what you have done!” Keldorn thundered. He swept a gauntlet-covered hand out over the corpses on the ground. “These innocent people slain, how many more will die before you stop? How many more excuses will there be for your bloodshed? I said _enough_!” His hand went to his back and he withdrew his massive two-handed blade.

“If you will not submit peacefully, then you have given me no other choice!”

Imoen could hear Valygar’s bowstring straining behind her and Jaheira’s scimitar unsheathed from its scabbard, but there was no chance of them being able to defend themselves from so many attackers. Had it really come to this? Was there _anyone_ left that they could trust? 

As Keldorn and the Helmites began to step towards the the others a low, sinister laugh rang out from the edge of the forest. The paladin motioned for them to stop. 

A burst of necrotic energy flew past Keldorn and exploded in the center of the group. 

Imoen glanced over her shoulder. The blood in her veins ran cold. Sarevok was standing at the far side of the clearing, his sword in one hand and his other holding a human head. Blood-stained blonde hair obscured the face, but she knew who it had to be. Nessa stood beside him, her swords in both hands. 

“Nessa…” she whispered. Her sister’s face was deathly pale, her thin lips set in a tight, determined line. Her robes were splattered with blood. She hadn’t seen Nessa like this since Irenicus, since the Abyss. 

The two strode forward as the Helmites struggled against Nessa’s spell, some of the youngest succumbing to it and falling to the ground, littering the grassy meadow with dessicated human husks. 

Keldorn coughed as he struggled against the spell. He quickly cast a dispel and motioned for the others to follow him forward out of the dark orange cloud surrounding them. As they stepped out from the dense fog he saw something come flying towards him, he jumped backwards and it landed at his feet. 

“By Torm,” he gasped. The recruit beside him stifled a shriek. It was a human head, a young girl with long, blonde hair streaked with blood. It was _Poppy_.

“Monster!” Keldorn cried, his grip on his sword tightening. 

Sarevok let out another sinister rumble of laughter. He glided past Jaheira with heavy, purposeful steps. Nessa followed behind him, her eyes narrowed with determination. 

“You were a fool to think otherwise, old man,” Sarevok rumbled. He gestured towards Poppy’s head with an arrogant grin on his blood-splattered, bronzed face. “A gift, from one _friend_ to another.” 

Nessa stepped forward and stood beside Sarevok, her eyes fixed on Keldorn. 

“Nessa, you would defend this _beast_? You allowed him to slaughter this young woman like an animal?” Keldorn demanded, his voice quivering with anger. 

Nessa shook her head and fought back tears. “I trusted you Keldorn. You know what they tried to do to Sarevok, what they were planning to do to all of us.”

Keldorn’s jaw clenched and his face reddened. “I had no choice, I have a family, I have my honor to maintain...you must understand…”

“Oh, I understand,” Nessa interrupted, her voice sharp. “All I’ve ever heard is that Sarevok is a monster, that _I_ am a monster, that the darkness in me and Imoen is a danger to everyone, or to the _balance_.” Nessa looked over her shoulder at Jaheira. The druid’s face fell.

“All along,” Nessa continued, turning back to face Keldorn, “it was _you_. People like you and the Harpers deciding who lives and who dies, what is right and wrong, preaching forgiveness and mercy but showing _none_.” Nessa took a step forward, her swords at her side. 

“No more.”

Keldorn’s eyes widened. “Nessa!” he cried, “He has poisoned your mind, he has turned you from the path of righteousness!” 

“There’s no room on that path for people like us, Keldorn.”

“We can help you Nessa, come with us.” Anomen’s hand moved away from his mace and he extended it out towards her. “ _I_ can help you, I will protect you.”

“If you weren’t a part of this then leave Anomen, leave before it’s too late,” Nessa replied, shaking her head. “We will protect each other.” She turned towards Imoen and smiled at her. “Come on, sis.”

There they stood, the three Children of Bhaal. Born of death, but still clinging to life, sharing an understanding of the terrible price of their heritage. Nessa knew that this battle would set in motion a chain reaction of events that could never be undone, but she didn’t care. Haer’Dalis was gone, her past slipped away like sand between her fingers and she was left with one singular motivation. 

Survival. 

For her and for her child. 

For Imoen.

For Sarevok. 

His eyes darted down to meet hers, the warmth of his burning stare enveloped her and she realized that he wasn’t even attempting to hide the affection in it. She had just watched him beat a man to death, then sever Poppy’s head from her lifeless body as a sort of perverted trophy, but somehow she _understood_. Even if she didn’t approve, she wasn’t going to stop him. If they were foolish enough to cross Sarevok, to cross her even, then they deserved all of his wrath and more. 

Nessa knew that she would have to tell him everything. No more secrets, no more refusals. 

Keldorn would never return to his family, nor would any of the other Helmites who fought at his side, but Nessa couldn’t summon a shred of regret. Anomen had fled, thankfully. Jaheira stood in stunned silence amid the scattered corpses. 

_Godchild...what have you become…_


	17. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I wasn't productive at all over the holidays. Recent convos in the bg discord got me back in the groove, many thanks to all who put up with my rambling. 
> 
> I wanted to cover more material but I got caught up in a long convo. It's time for The Talk.

_Let me show you the way through the water_   
_You don't have to explain yourself_   
_Turn your face to the stars_   
_I see you smiling_   
_In summer I drowned you_   
_In winter I found you_   
_As the world falls apart around me_   
_The serpent is dreaming_   
_I don't know this feeling_   
_As we break through the other side_

The Other Side, Birthday Massacre.

I had to include this song, it’s been a huge inspiration for Nessa’s internal state with all of the madness going on around her.

 

\-----------------------------------------

_Amkethran._

Nessa hoped this would be the last time she would travel to the barren, dusty wasteland surrounding Balthazar’s fortress. Her mind kept drifting to the memory of Keldorn at her feet, dead. The horror in Jaheira’s face, the shadows in Imoen’s eyes, the silent grief masked behind Valygar’s blood-stained skin. Had it really come to this?

_Sarevok is a monster...he destroys everything he touches…_

Nessa bit her lip, hard. How many would have to die, in order for her to survive? Was she really worth all of those lives? Her hand twitched towards her stomach, towards the only beauty that had somehow managed to grow amidst so much pain. So much loss.

A child. _Her_ child.

She had already spoken with Jaheira about the Harpers, she believed her friend when she said that she had no involvement with them. Jaheira informed her of Poppy’s last words to her in Watcher’s Keep and Nessa struggled to keep down the anger that welled up deep within her. There was something else in Jaheira’s concerned looks, in the way the druid’s eyes lingered on her and her mouth opened to speak, then quickly snapped shut again. There was a sadness, too, a sense of failure that Nessa couldn’t see.

 

Jaheira had struggled to keep Nessa from falling prey to the cursed blood that ran in her veins, but if it were true that she and Sarevok were _intimate..._ The thought made her shiver. She had failed to protect Gorion’s ward from Irenicus, even from the Harpers, her own people! She was at Nessa’s side when Sarevok fell, she could vividly remember the relief when he faded to dust before them, she was disgusted when Nessa resurrected him. But _this_? Them, together?! It was unfathomable.

It was his dark charisma, she was sure of it, Nessa had been left vulnerable after Haer’Dalis’ cruel departure and Sarevok took advantage of the situation. That _had_ to be it. Now he had access to Nessa, physically and emotionally, and he had begun his corruption of her.

The five of them stood at the entrance of the town, their bodies and minds worn by the toll of what had transpired at Watcher’s Keep. Jaheira tried to ignore the subtle glances Sarevok cast towards Nessa. She had seen the way he flung himself between Nessa and one of the Helmites, taking the brunt of the man’s crushing blow. If she didn’t know better, she would think that maybe, _possibly_ , he actually did care about her.

Jaheira followed Nessa because she had nowhere else to go. Khalid was dead, the Harpers had betrayed everything she thought they stood for. There was no refuge for her. What would she do when it was all over? It seemed unlikely that she would survive it.

The sun was starting its journey beneath the horizon and the chill of the thin air began to seep into their bones. They would rest for one final night before they faced Balthazar and whatever else dwelled behind his well-fortified walls. The friends each went to their own rooms, wordlessly, Valygar wasn’t surprised when he awoke in the middle of the night to find Sarevok’s bed empty.

 

\-----------

 

Nessa tugged at her robes nervously, her fingers kneading the smooth, green fabric. She wasn’t prepared to talk to Sarevok, she wasn’t ready to be alone with him, to tell him the truth. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, her heartbeat thundered in her ears. A gentle knock startled her, she jumped to her feet and rushed to the door. She opened it to reveal Sarevok standing before her, his armor removed and his bronzed skin covered with only his tunic. He slipped into her room without a word, he was surprisingly agile for his size. It never ceased to amaze her.

“How are you feeling?” Nessa asked, her calm voice hiding the nervousness that threatened to overwhelm her.

Sarevok stopped and turned to look at her, his deep amber eyes fixed on hers, scanning them with the intensity she had grown accustomed to.

“The wound has healed, the effects of the poison should be gone after a night’s rest,” he replied, his voice gravelly from the dry desert air.

Nessa remained quiet, but Sarevok noted the way her eyelids twitched and how she was biting at her bottom lip. He took a step closer to her, she could smell the scent of his sweat mixed with blood and dirt. She was tall but he was taller still, he towered at least a head over her.

Her brows creased and her face contorted as she struggled to fight back her tears.

“Nessa…” he murmured, the softness in his voice betraying him. He wanted to mock her, spite her, _hurt_ her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He expected betrayal. She, apparently, was still surprised by it.

“Keldorn chose this fate for himself, you cannot hold yourself--,” he began, but was interrupted by Nessa throwing her arms around him and pressing her cheek against his chest.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered between muffled cries, “I--I thought they had killed you, and it was all my fault for not telling you the truth about what happened with Anomen.” She could feel Sarevok’s muscles tighten beneath her arms. His rough hands grabbed her shoulders and pushed her off of him, his face suddenly dark and ominous.

“Truth?” he snapped, a warning flash of fire igniting in his eyes, “what _truth_ is there to tell?”

Nessa wiped a tear from her face and grabbed for his wrists but he wrenched them from her grasp.

“Sarevok...please…”

“I did not think you capable of taking another lover so quickly, Nessa, it appears that I have underestimated you.” His words were sharp, his tone caustic. “Of course, considering how easily you came into my bed, I should have known better.”

Nessa looked as if he had slapped her. He immediately regretted his hasty words, tears began to stream down her pale, drawn cheeks.

“Nessa, I--,” he began, but she shook her head violently.

“Don’t.” She held her hand out towards him and backed away. “Don’t.”

Sarevok sighed and turned to the nearby couch. He lowered himself onto it, the same threadbare couch that they been on when he first kissed her. He was consumed with her, he could barely control his jealousy, he saw the way the Helmite looked at her. The hunger in the lesser man’s gaze, the longing he couldn’t hide. It made Sarevok want to sever the cleric’s head clean from his shoulders.

“What we’ve done, it’s wrong Sarevok, we both know it,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion. “I don’t know what this _thing_ is between us, but it...it’s not right.”

He let out a small, scornful laugh, his lips turned down in a frown. “It is too late for regrets, Nessa.”

“Keldorn is dead,” she continued, ignoring him, “you almost died, Poppy’s dead, how many more people are going to die because of _me_? I’ve already killed you once, twice, and then I have to watch it almost happen again? I can’t protect the people I love, I can barely protect myself...” Her body began to shake, she wrapped her trembling hands around her upper arms, pulling them tight to her chest. “I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you, Sarevok.” Her tear-filled eyes darted up to scan over his face, over the tattoos and scars and the pain etched into his skin. “I never meant to.”

“You assume much,” he growled in reply. She was treading dangerously close to a vulnerability that he didn’t want to admit even existed.

“Maybe this was all some sort of plan you had, but you have to know, it won’t work. I’ll never be what you want me to be, I’ll never have you the power you want. _Never_.”

 _I have no idea what I want, not anymore_. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he remained silent.

“What happens to you if I die, Sarevok? You know more about this than I do, tell me, please,” she said, her voice soft and her tears dried. She remained standing a few feet away from him, she let her grip on her arms loosen and her hands fell to her sides.

“I will die as well.”

“What if I get rid of Bhaal’s essence somehow, what if I can just be mortal, what then?” she asked, her brows knitted. She stared into his eyes, hungry for an answer that she wanted to hear, but afraid of what the truth could be.

“I am unsure. Perhaps I will die, perhaps not, I had not considered it a possibility.” He glared at her, his face devoid of emotion, his upper body leaned forward and his elbows resting on his knees.

“I won’t become the god of murder Sarevok, not now that I…,” her voice trailed off and her emerald eyes darted away from him. She bit the inside of her cheek angrily, she had already said too much.

“Hmm?” Sarevok asked, one thick, black eyebrow arching up towards his bare scalp.

“Nothing, just forget it--I’m tired,” Nessa replied breezily.

“That is a lie.”

Nessa frowned at him. “Why do you have to be so pushy?” she demanded angrily. “Why did you have to come barging into Anomen’s tent like that? Why do you have to give people more of a reason to not trust you?!”

“Pushy?” Sarevok scoffed. “You treat me as if I am nothing but a toy to you, for you to play with as you desire! You drag us on some fool’s errand to Watcher’s Keep, you avoid my company, you leave me to watch you run again and again back to that Helmite’s tent!” Sarevok’s hands tightened into fists. “You mourn over the bard as if you imagined there was some other end to expect from him, but it is and always was a false hope. You will _never_ live as a mortal, Nessa, if you do not embrace your birthright then you will _die_ by it!”

“That can’t be true Sarevok, I refuse to believe, I won’t!” Nessa cried, her voice cracking with emotion. “There has to be some other way, there must be!”

Sarevok shook his head and glared at her. “Stubborn woman, why will you not listen to me? **There is no other way**.”

“You don’t understand,” Nessa whispered, and drew in a deep breath. “There _has_ to be.”

Sarevok’s expression grew puzzled. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked. His eyes burned into hers and she tried to turn from him but found herself unable to.

“What are you not telling me?”

“I…” Nessa began, then stopped. She steeled herself, it was time to tell him the truth, all of it.

“You remember that the healer here, in Amkethran, he said that there was a darkness within me that he could sense, but he couldn’t heal?”

Sarevok nodded. “Yes,” he replied, gravely. He didn’t want to remember that day.

“I went to Watcher’s Keep because I knew I didn’t have any other option for finding a skilled healer, I haven’t felt right after Abazigal and I wanted to know why, I thought maybe I had done permanent damage to myself.” Nessa’s fingers pulled nervously at the hem of her robes, again.

“I see, and why would you not share this information with me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me!”

Sarevok frowned and shook his head. “Yes, because leaving us all languishing in confusion and doubt was undoubtedly a better choice.”

Nessa sighed. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking clearly. Anyways, Anomen figured out what was wrong with me.” Her face flushed a dark shade of pink and she fidgeted with the belt tied around her waist. “I’m not sick, I’m not damaged, I’m just…” She let out a long breath and tried to steady her voice. Sarevok’s constant scowling wasn’t helping her calm down, not at all.

“Well?” he demanded. “What is it?”

“I’m pregnant.” She spat the words out quickly, before she could change her mind. She pressed her eyes shut, not wanting to see Sarevok’s reaction.

There was a momentary pause while the words sank in. Then, the reaction.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Sarevok barked. He jumped off the couch and stormed towards her, his hands were on her shoulders before she even opened her eyes. His grip on her tightened, his fingers dug deep into her flesh. “Look at me!” he barked.

Her lids slowly opened and she stared at him, her red-rimmed eyes peeked out from beneath long lashes and black, thick brows.

“What game are you playing? What is the meaning of this?” His voice was ragged, barely more than a snarl.

“It’s not a game. I’m telling you the truth.”

Sarevok’s fingers were bruising her, she could feel the anger rolling off of him and filling the air around them. “Surely the cleric gave you something to terminate it, then?”

Her hands flew to his chest and she shoved him off of her with a strength greater than he realized she was capable of. “Surely _not_ ,” she hissed. Sarevok lunged towards her, furious, but stopped when he felt the cold bite of steel. Nessa’s dagger was pressed against his gut.

He looked down at the blade, then back up at her. Her face was cold, expressionless.

“This is my choice, and no one else’s.”

“You shouldn’t pull a blade if you aren’t willing to use it,” Sarevok growled. He pressed himself closer to her, the tip of the dagger sliced through his tunic and broke the surface of his skin. Nessa held fast, her green eyes meet his in a challenging stare.

“Who said I wasn’t willing.”

They stood there for a few painfully long, tense moments. Nessa wasn’t afraid of Sarevok, and she sure as hell wouldn’t let him tell her what to do about her own child. _He_ presumed much if he thought it was his, or if he thought he had any business making her decisions for her. The thought of the child being Sarevok’s distracted her, her grip on the dagger loosened slightly, a difference that only a trained warrior would notice. Sarevok did, and before she knew it he had grabbed her by the wrist and flung the blade from her hand. Only then did she see the blood that was seeping down the front of his shirt.

“Shit...” she mumbled, her other hand moving towards the bloodstain. The realization she had injured him snapped her out of her anger.

Sarevok said nothing in reply, his grip on her wrist tightened. Concern flashed across her face, she bit at her perfect, pale pink lip. His eyes moved down her body and came to rest on her abdomen, he couldn’t believe that she...could it… _no_. It wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be his.

“Whose child is it?” he asked.

Nessa shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know.” Her voice was flat, but he could hear the faint quiver in it.

“Was there no way for the Helmite to ascertain? Could he not ask his fool god for _insight_?” Sarevok sneered.

“He tried, but Helm gave no answer, both he and the other healer said that there was a ‘darkness’, or ‘evil’ or something along those lines, but that doesn’t really help clarify anything.”

“What do you mean? It is most obvious, then, whose child it is.”

Nessa looked up at him, puzzled. “I don’t follow.”

Sarevok frowned at her. “Regardless of my reputation, I am no longer a Bhaalspawn, my blood that of a mere human. The bard, on the other hand, was cleary of fiendish descent.”

“But you are...you aren’t human, exactly…”

“I am alive, and I am human. Perhaps I could be considered undead, I am not entirely certain myself.” Sarevok gritted his teeth and stared past her. “I doubt I could father a child.”

“You...you don’t know that for sure…” Nessa stammered. Sweat began to form at her temples, the room suddenly seemed so hot, the walls too close together.

“How, exactly, were you planning on keeping this bastard child of yours alive through the trials that you will face?” Sarevok continued, his words as harsh and unforgiving as his scornful sneer.

His words cut through her. She winced, her eyes pressed shut. Sarevok noticed, but he didn’t stop. He _couldn’t_.

“You nearly died, Nessa, after the Ravager. In truth, I am surprised a pregnancy could have survived. It does not seem possible.”

“That’s enough,” Nessa whispered.

“It is not! You will listen to me, girl! I will not stand by and watch you throw your destiny away. You are so close to grasping everything I died for, and that I would die for _again_!”

Nessa laughed, her lips twisted in a smirk. “Yes, that’s what all of this is about it, isn’t it?”

Sarevok snorted. “You are a fool if you ever thought otherwise.”

The cold sincerity of his words echoed in her ears. She glanced up at him, her face deathly pale.

“Then I’m a fool.” Her expression was empty, her eyes were fixed on his but they had no anger left in them, only a hollow sadness. She looked exhausted, her cheeks were sharper than usual, her neck more slender.

“Nessa....I…,” Sarevok sighed and shook his head. “Why do you cling so desperately to this… _mortal_ world, when you could have so much more? Power, immortality, they are at your fingertips!”

“Our blood is a curse, Sarevok, you’ve been too blinded by your ambition to see it for what it is,” Nessa replied, her voice low and soft.

“It is no longer _our_ blood.”

“Yes, you are free from it! No more nightmares, no more voices, no more urges, you can just...live, free…” her words trailed off.

“Free?!” Sarevok scoffed. He grinned at her, wide and mirthless, and let out a deep laugh. “I am tethered to you, Nessa, I dream only of my failures and _your_ dreams, _your_ memories, I am bound to follow you and protect your life, and thereby my own! I am chained to you, Nessa, and I certainly will die because of you _yet again_.”

“So what, I have to ascend for you to live, then? That’s the answer? If I don’t, you die?” Nessa lips quivered, she bit back her tears.

“I don’t know,” Sarevok replied. Honestly, he didn’t. He had given it a great deal of thought when he first was resurrected, but lately he had been....distracted. “It should be of no concern to you.”

“How can you say that? I’m not you, Sarevok, I actually care about the people I bring in my bed.”

“Your provocations mean nothing to me, girl.”

“You’ve made it quite clear that _I_ mean nothing to you.”

Sarevok glared at her, his amber eyes glowing in the dim light. “Believe what you will.”

“I believe that you are pretending to be something that you're not, you're trying to pretend you're the same as the old Sarevok, but you're not, not anymore!”

“I…,” he began, but still no words would come to him. Nessa stared up at him, her bright green eyes clouded with hurt and disappointment.

“Nessa..,” he paused and rubbed a hand over his forehead, clearly frustrated.

“I...I have learned a great deal in my life, how to survive, how to influence others, how to bend them to my will, but with you...” he paused and shook his head. “My life has had no kindness, no gentleness. I hurt everyone in my path, even those that I...that I care for. You see something in me that isn’t there.”

“No,” Nessa argued. “You know that’s not true.”

She was right, deep down he knew that it was there. The tables had turned, he was bent to her will, she possessed him. If this was what love was, this terrible longing and hunger that could only be satisfied by her touch, her nearness, then he hated it as much as he loved her. He was out of control, his perception clouded by her sadness, he felt a strange ache after every harsh, callous word he threw at her.

“What do you want from me,” he growled. “Have you not done enough? Am I not humiliated enough? Shall I die again, at your hand? It would be more bearable than this… _curse_!”

Nessa’s brows furrowed, she glanced up at him with a concerned expression. “I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give.”

Sarevok gave her a scornful sneer and folded his arms over his chest. “You make it seem so easy, so simple.”

“Nothing about you is simple,” she replied with a small smirk.

“Ah yes, the flippant humor, of course.”

“Would you rather me cry?”

Sarevok frowned at her. “No.”

Nessa took a step towards him. His face softened at the makeshift peace offering she extended to him as she closed the distance between them. She was at arm’s length, he reached forward to cup her cheek with his thick, rough palm.

“I...shouldn't have...,” he stammered, suddenly searching for words that he could not find.

She placed one of her cool, soft hands over his. “It’s ok.”

“I don’t know how to do this, any of this…” Sarevok’s throat caught.

Nessa pulled his hand from her face and pulled it down to wrap his arm around her waist. She stepped closer to him and pressed herself against his chest. Her other hand went to the blood stain at his torso, her fingers brushed across the rough linen.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

She didn’t know what they would face the next day, or what the future held for them. But for right now she would enjoy his touch, she would push away the worries for what few moments she could.

He wrapped his other arm around her torso and pulled her tightly against him. Silence fell between them, the only sound their breaths and the din of a few drunks in the tavern below them.

“Sarevok..,” Nessa began, her cheek pressed against his chest. His arms gripped her harder. “I never wanted it to be like this, I never wanted you to suffer. I hurt everyone around me, too.”

Sarevok let out a long sigh. “It is who we are, Nessa.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way, I’m not going to give up on you, on me...on a future, for us.”

“Us?” Sarevok asked, his voice guarded.

“I won’t let you die, not again.” Nessa shook her head and dug her fingers into his back. _Not like Haer’Dalis…_ The thought brought a choked sob to her throat.

“What of the child, Nessa?” Sarevok brought a hand up to her face and lifted her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

“I’ve lost so much, Sarevok, I can’t lose this, too.” Her eyes glistened with tears of exhaustion, tears of despair. Tears for Keldorn, for the dead left in her wake. Her hand slipped to her stomach, involuntarily, and she quickly pulled it away again. It did not escape Sarevok’s notice.

“You are a strong woman, Nessa, too strong.” Sarevok exhaled sharply and traced over her pointed ear with a calloused thumb. “I know that I cannot change your mind. If this is what you wish then I...I will respect your decision. I only hope you realize that there may be a greater cost, in the end.” His expression softened, she could see a hint of regret in his radiant eyes.

“Do you miss them?” Nessa asked, her voice quiet.

“Them?” He gave her a curious glance. His light brown forehead creased, accentuating the lines of the tattoos marking his scalp and eyes. They had faded in the time he spent beneath the desert sun, or maybe they were just less noticeable with the deep tan of his skin.

“Tamoko...Winski...the people you cared about before, well, before…”

“I died? Why do you ask of them?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Because I miss the people I’ve lost, desperately,” Nessa replied. It was true, no matter how fraught her relationship with Gorion was, she still missed the fatherly support her offered her. Seeing everyone she grew up with turned into twisted versions of themselves, watching in horror as the Slayer ripped Haer’Dalis apart, the terror in Poppy’s eyes, the resignation in Keldorn’s...it was too much to bear. How could she be so devastated by Haer’Dalis’ departure and yet here she was, in the arms of the man who had taken her foster father away from her? The man who had hunted her, tormented her, and finally fallen at her feet. She loved him, in some strange, twisted way. They shared a bond that no one else could understand, not even Imoen, they shared an unbreakable ambition and determination. He was at war with himself, now, a mere shell of his former self. Born again as a human, navigating the waters of mortality as a man adrift, rudderless.

“I am not sure if anyone has ever cared for me, or I for them, in a way that you would understand, Nessa,” Sarevok replied, his voice steady and even but his eyes still burning. “Many sought my company for the power that I offered, or the potential they saw in me, nothing more.”

“Even Tamoko?”

Anger flared in his eyes, flashing a warning to her that she had stepped over a boundary. “Would you have me speak to you of the bard? Leave the past in the past, I care not to remember, or to discuss it.”

“You have spoken plenty of him, actually, you insult him every chance you get!” Nessa replied sharply. “Even now that he’s…,” she stopped and bit her lip again. She couldn’t accept it, not yet. It wasn’t real.

“Hmph,” Sarevok snorted. “So, you care for him still? He abandoned you to your fate, fled like a coward in the night, and now he had died mere weeks after returning to the oft-praised army of nihilistic fools? This is what he wished for, oblivion and whatever other drivel he prattled on about, incessantly, and what has he left behind? A woman who he never deserved in the first place? A _child_? I spit on his memory!” Sarevok face was flushed with anger, his grip on her cheek and ear tightened.

“He didn’t want to leave, they forced him, you weren’t there!” Nessa protested.

“I have slaughtered those who would stand in our way, Nessa, do not tell me there was not another way. He _chose_ to return with them.” Sarevok’s stare bored into her, his words rang true but she struggled against them.

“He was trying to protect me, his brother wouldn’t let him go peacefully, he...he did what he had to…,” Nessa voice grew faint.

“I killed all of them, Nessa, those who would keep me from your side, and I returned to you. I carried you back from Abazigal’s lair, I kept watch through the long nights of your recovery. You demanded no oath and yet here I am. I, Sarevok Anchev, the butcher of Baldur’s Gate. Think on this.”

“I...what are you saying?” Nessa grasped desperately for words, but none would come. She looked down at her feet, unable to match intensity of Sarevok’s gaze.

“Nessa,” Sarevok murmured, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. “I will be at your side until the end. Nothing will stand between us.” He reached forward and grabbed her chin, gently tugging it up with a tenderness that she didn’t expect.

“Being in your company...I feel…,” he paused, clearly struggling to express himself. “Some part of me has changed, beyond the loss of the Bhaal taint, I...gods, why must this be so difficult?!” He sighed and rolled his head back and took a deep breath. “I appreciate what you have done for me, Nessa, your trust, your acceptance, your understanding. It is more than I...deserve.”

Nessa shook her head vehemently and grabbed his hand. “We can’t change what we are, or what we’ve done, but we don’t have to accept the fate Bhaal wants for us.”

“You hope for the impossible.” He glanced down at her robes, at the barely perceptible roundness beneath the belt around her waist. He would not have paid any mind to it, ordinarily, but now...Nessa? Pregnant? A child surviving the change into the Ravager? Impossible, unless...no. It couldn’t be his. A strange, foreign emotion flooded his breast at the thought that it could be his child. His lovers had fallen pregnant before, but he had threatened them into terminating it. Nothing would stand in the way of his ambitions, and he had no suitable example of fatherhood. Or childhood, for that matter.

“It’s all I have,” Nessa replied. “No one can save me from myself. This is _my_ fight, Sarevok, _my_ destiny. If I don’t hold onto the hope that I can come out of it alive, then I might as well give up now.”

“You must prepare yourself for the possibility that even if you survive, others may not. Your _child_ may not.”

Nessa’s face fell, he could see tears welling up in her eyes again. “I know,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “It’s all I can think about, how many more of you won’t make it, because of me.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I know why you stay, but the others...why...they have lost so much already…”

“Where else will they go? Jaheira’s husband is dead, surely the Harpers will hunt her down, Valygar is a wanted man, and Imoen? You are all the girl has left, Nessa.”

“If they knew about us they wouldn’t stay. Especially now that I’m...”

Sarevok snorted. “I doubt their allegiance is so easily lost.”

Nessa glanced up at him, surprised. “How would you know?”

“I have seen how you inspire them, how you lead these lost sheep you call companions. They will follow you to the end, I am sure of it.”

“I’d like to think of them as my friends, not ‘sheep’ as you say.”

“As you wish. Regardless, it is too close to the end to worry about such matters. Even I can sense it, with what little scrap of the taint I have left in me, it is as if I am waiting for you beneath Baldur’s Gate again. Your destiny draws near, little one.” Sarevok’s expression grew serious, the shadows under his eyes seemed darker, his full lips pressed in a line accentuated the knotted scars that snaked across the left side of his face. She wanted to know the story behind them, behind the tattoos, there was so little she knew of his past. So many questions she wanted to ask him before it was too late.

“Promise me you won’t die,” Nessa demanded, her voice soft, yet unwavering.

“You know I cannot.”

“Please…,” she whispered, a stray tear running down her face. Sarevok reached up to brush it from her cool skin.

“I live on borrowed time, Nessa, at first I thought it was my own doing, my sheer will to live that brought me back but now…,” his thumb slid across her cheek, coming to rest on the fullness of her lower lip. “Perhaps there is some other purpose.”

“Stay with me tonight.” Nessa stepped closer to him, her sudden vulnerability seemed to suck the very air from the room. “Until the morning, until whatever tomorrow brings. Please, don’t go.”

Sarevok felt as if his chest were held in a vise. He hated being so close to her, he hated that he _wanted_ to stay with her for as long as he could. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate her, not anymore.

Nessa wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his tunic. His muscles tensed at the sudden contact, but relaxed as he felt her fingers gripping into the flesh of his back. Her strength surprised him, he had never been with a woman who could match him in physical combat. He bent down and slipped an arm beneath her legs and hoisted her up against his chest.

He laid her down on the thin mattress, his movement slow and gentle. It seemed impossible for a man of his size to be so careful. Nessa looked up at him from the bed and extended her arm to him. Sarevok bent down and pressed his lips against hers, his kiss surprisingly soft. As they pulled away from each other Sarevok slipped under the sheets and came to rest beside her, his large frame behind hers. He pulled her into his embrace, the heat radiated off him in comforting waves.

She fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the emotional toll of everything that had happened. Sarevok rested beside her, watching as she drew steady, slow breaths. He, too, desperately needed sleep to heal from the after-effects of the poison and the wound, but he fought against his fatigue for just a few more moments.

He could have never imagined that he would end up here, in this place, in her bed. That she would trust him enough to sleep in his arms. Trust...so foreign to him. A fool’s mistake, a dead man’s folly, he had no mercy for those stupid enough to trust anyone but themselves. But he couldn’t deny the calm that washed over him as he lay there with Nessa, her too-slender form nestled against him, it was a peacefulness that he had never experienced before.

He was grateful. For everything she had done, bringing him back to life, accepting him in her group, tolerating his outbursts and disregarding his attempts to control her. She had earned his respect. Deep down he knew that she had earned far more than respect, but he couldn’t admit that to himself, he wasn’t ready for it.

He drifted into a deep sleep, a sleep more restful than any night since he had been brought back from the dead.

When the morning came, they would be there to face it, together.


	18. Dreams

Nessa awoke to find herself in the midst of an open meadow. The sky was black, the stars scattered about a bright moon. She was alone and everything seemed strangely familiar. Was she dreaming? The tall grass brushed against her bare knees, she looked down and found herself clad in simple adventurer’s robes. 

This place...it was the D’Arnise estate. The trolls were cleared out and the corpse of Nalia’s father recovered. Nessa was the guardian of this place, now, she would see to it that it prospered and the people could rebuild their lives in peace. The cold, stone walls of the castle were too much for her, dead bodies still littered the halls. She had sought some refuge outside in the wildlands surrounding the manor. 

There was soft rustling in the grass behind her, she spun around and brandished a dagger from her belt. She half-expected to find a troll or yuan-ti after days of clearing out the beseiged keep.

Instead, Nessa found a blue-grey haired tiefling standing behind her. 

“Haer’Dalis! You startled me,” she gasped. He had joined them in the days before they traveled to Nalia’s family estate, after she had ‘rescued’ him and his fellow actors from a cambion bounty hunter. He was friendly enough, but strange, she didn’t quite know what to make of him. 

“Forgive me, my raven, I confess I did not expect company, either,” he said with a half-grin. His skin was a light tan, his cheeks and chin were covered with thick lines that were either markings or scars. His eyes were a black that somehow seemed ever darker in the moonlight, there was something entrancing about his gaze. He made her nervous, he and his companion Raelis Shai were the first tieflings she had ever met. She wasn’t afraid of him, but she felt her skin prickle when he was near her. 

“Oh...I thought you, um…, sorry,” she stammered. She looked down at the dagger in her hand and quickly stuck it back into her belt. Her cheeks were burning. 

“No need to apologize, I should have warned you of my presence sooner. I found myself unable to sleep and stole out to enjoy the intoxicating beauty of Toril’s night sky.” His voice was smooth, calm. It had a musical quality that she had come to admire. 

“I couldn’t sleep either, not with all the dead trolls and after Nalia’s father--,” Nessa paused and drew in a deep breath. “I was still hoping we would find him alive.”

Haer’Dalis peered at her, his eyes unblinking and his body so still against the backdrop of the cattails waving in the evening breeze. “‘Tis better for us to have found him, no? Fair Nalia will recover, in time.” 

Fortunately, Nalia had been left behind with her aunt while the others searched for her father. He suffered a brutal death at the hands of Tor’Gal, the troll leader, they stumbled upon his corpse in the lower level of the keep. 

Haer’Dalis had been unfazed by the mindless violence of the trolls and yuan’ti. He vacillated between unnerving calm and frenzied excitement in battle, he would throw himself against his foes as if he had no fear of death at all. He had mentioned that he was a member of the Doomguard, some sort of guild in his homeland, and that was why he refused their efforts to heal him. He insisted that he wasn’t wounded and grew angry when Jaheira ignored him and tended to a rather serious slash from a troll’s claws. 

“I know she will be fine, but it’s such a waste...all of this death, for no reason.” Nessa clasped her hands around her slender elbows, suddenly chilled by the night air. 

Haer’Dalis let out a light chuckle. “I’m sure there was some reason, my dear Nessa, although ‘twas obscured from our eyes. Even the most senseless violence has some purpose, if only to satiate the hunger of the perpetrator.”

Nessa grimaced. “That’s not a comforting thought.” 

“Ah, but when does the truth offer comfort? Life is fleeting...think only of a few weeks ago. If not for your brave rescue, this sparrow would be toiling in some dark, planar prison. Or worse. Chance shows no favor, my friend.” Haer’Dalis’ smirk widened into a smile. “But glad I am that lady luck has allowed me to travel in your company, as long as it may last.” 

“As long as it may last?” Nessa questioned, peering at him curiously. “I wasn’t planning on getting rid of you _that_ quickly, you know.” 

Haer’Dalis let out a deep, genuine laugh. “Perhaps, my raven, but we are all mere steps from our graves, are we not? You march bravely into the most glorious of battles, even this poor Doomguard finds himself hesitating as you lead us into madness! How wonderful it is!” Haer’Dalis’ black eyes shone with excitement. 

“It was only a few trolls,” Nessa countered, biting back a smile. Haer’Dalis certainly had a flair for the dramatic. 

“Bah, I look forward to what lies ahead, humility has no place here. Chaos, destruction, they cling to you as children to a mother. It is breathtaking to behold.” 

Nessa stood in silence, not knowing whether to feel complimented or offended. She shifted awkwardly under Haer’Dalis’ penetrating stare. 

“Are you insane?” she blurted out, unable to stop herself. She cursed under her breath as the words spilled out, but fortunately the tiefling seemed undaunted. 

“Certainly. Driven to the edge of madness by your beauty and strength, of course.” Another sly grin, he was clearly toying with her at this point. 

“Does that line ever work?” Nessa shifted her weight onto one hip and folded her arms over her chest. She wasn’t sure what to make of him yet, whether or not she should read anything into his flirtations. 

“On those susceptible to flattery, yes,” Haer’Dalis replied, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. He stepped closer to her, a faint scent of brimstone followed with him. 

His voice deepened and his gaze remained fixed on her. “But you are not so easily charmed, are you my raven?” There was something enthralling about the way he spoke, the way his full lips moved. She couldn’t maintain his stare and looked away from him, at the outline of the D’arnise estate looming in the distance. 

“I’d like to think not.” Nessa felt more nervous as he drew with arm’s reach, but she shook it off. She’d faced worse than a tiefling, besides he had given her no reason to mistrust him. 

He cocked his head and gave her a curious glance. His rows of earrings and various baubles woven in his braided hair jingled, she hadn’t noticed how many of them there were. 

“Would you tell me of your world, Nessa? Your moon, stars, I have heard that stories are held within the various shapes found in the night sky. I do not wish to keep you from your rest, but I am eager for your company, if you are of such a mind.” 

Nessa didn’t feel very tired, and it was a particularly clear night. Besides, she had learned much of the stars and the stories behind the constellations at Candlekeep, and she couldn’t turn down an opportunity for some conversation that wasn’t about Irenicus or the Shadow Thieves or villages in peril. 

“Sure, why not?” She shrugged her shoulders and glanced around for a clearing. “I’ve got a blanket in my pack, it would be easier if we laid down.” Her cheeks flushed once she realized what she had said, she hadn’t meant anything by it but she could see Haer’Dalis’ cheeky grin. 

“Of course, but we must take care not to fall asleep out here, for fear we would worry the others,” he said, his teeth shining in the moonlight. There was something distinctly feline about him, the way he moved and his mischievous smirks. 

An hour later they were on their backs, a safe distance between them, Nessa pointing at the stars in the sky and sharing all of the tales of the constellations. The centaur and the warrior woman, the double daggers and the arrow of the gods. 

“What of those?” Haer’Dalis asked, gesturing towards a cluster of stars perched near the moon. “I see no shape, yet they linger so close together, and shine most bright.” 

“Yes, those are the Tears of Selǔne, are you familiar with her? She is the moon goddess, a human god.”

Haer’Dalis shook his head. “I am afraid I know little of your deities, my friend.”

“She is the goddess of the moon, they aren’t stars they are asteroids. Rocks, really. There are stories of them hiding a castle, people inhabiting them, but the monks said it was just rumors. Most humans believe that they are the goddess’ tears, hence the name. She fell in love with a handsome, noble warrior, only to discover that he was a monster, a shapeshifter that wanted to destroy all of Toril. Legend says she locked him and his minions away in a gem, then wept and her tears became fixed in the night sky, forever trailing her.”

Haer’Dalis turned to look at the elven woman beside him. Nessa was laid out on her back, her long legs hanging off the edge of the blanket. She looked ethereal in the moonlight, slender fingers brushed her black hair from her face. She noticed he was facing her and turned, meeting his gaze. 

“It’s a silly story, superstition, nothing more.” 

Her eyes shone like two emeralds fixed beneath thick, full brows. Her skin was the color of the moon, a pale white with a hint of cool blue. 

“Under the night sky, my raven, certainly even this Selune herself would envy your beauty.”

Nessa rolled her eyes and laughed. “Selune’s portfolio included beauty back in the days of Netheril, I don’t think she has to worry about competition from me.” She turned back up to the sky and her smile faded to a pensive stare.

“I’m a moon elf, Haer’Dalis, my foster father Gorion told me of my mother, and my people. But I’ve only lived with humans, I’ve barely even met any other elves. Sometimes, when I look at the moon, I can feel it calling to me. I feel...connected, in some way. That there are other people like me, looking up at the moon, feeling the way that I do.” She paused and let out a short sigh. “That sounds crazy, doesn’t it.” 

“No my raven, it does not,” Haer’Dalis replied, his voice low. Something in the moon’s light called to him, too. It reminded him of a past that he would prefer to forget, and of a birthright that he didn’t understand. 

Haer’Dalis yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Well, my dear Nessa, I have greatly enjoyed your tutelage in the legends of the stars. But I fear that I have grown most weary, and should retire to my room. Shall I accompany you back to the keep?”

Nessa glanced over at him, surprised that he was already standing to leave. “Oh, no, I’m not quite tired yet. I’ll be fine alone.” She regretted sharing so much with him, she barely even knew him. Obviously it had made him uncomfortable as well. _Idiot_ , she cursed at herself. 

“Of course. Good evening, my raven.” Haer’Dalis gave her a small bow before turning from her. She watched as he stepped through the tall grass, and in a few minutes he was gone. 

Nessa looked back to the moon, she closed her eyes and basked in its cool glow. There she felt peace, a calm stillness that soothed her churning, nightmare-plagued mind. Nessa didn’t care much for the gods, but in that moment she was grateful for Selune’s gentle, peaceful touch.

 

 

 

She stirred from her sleep and found herself prone, again, but this time beside Sarevok. In her bed, in Amkethran. The moonlight spilled through the open window and illuminated the room. 

Sarevok’s heavy breaths were the only sound, except for the steady thump of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. So much had changed since that evening with Haer’Dalis, it was a simpler life, then. The push and pull of their initial flirtations, he would open up to her only to snap shut and walk away. He was surprisingly patient with her, he accepted her as she was, he asked nothing of her and expected her to ask nothing of him. He offered what he could in the moment, nothing more. 

Sarevok’s eyes were closed, the wrinkles in his face smoothed and his thick lips parted only slightly. He looked younger without his usual scowl, his massive head rested on the pillow beside her and she glanced over the broad shoulders and scarred, bare arm that was bent at his waist. She could barely remember those early days spent fleeing his assassins, the desolation she felt as she bent over Gorion’s body, sobbing. For all of his faults, Gorion was still the only father she had ever known. Sarevok’s bronzed, tattooed face, she had watched it crumble to dust at her feet. The wheels of destiny lead her to Sarevok, just as they were leading her to now to whatever fate awaited. Had destiny brought them together, too?

Sarevok wasn’t patient, he demanded much of her and expected much in return. He possessed, he dominated, he wanted something from her that she could never give. 

A future, a promise. A place for him at her side. 

He hadn’t left her, as she had thought he would, after she told him of the child. Instead he was here beside her. Children of death, born to die. Murderer and murdered. 

He stirred in his sleep and a heavy palm wrapped protectively around her waist and pulled her closer to him. In that moment, his humanity struck her, suddenly and painfully. He would never live as long as her. His days were numbered the moment she resurrected him. How could she have ever known that _this_ would happen? 

A nagging doubt tugged at her mind, a gnawing fear that there would be no way to save Sarevok, herself and her child. That a choice would have to be made, for those she loved, and a life would have to be sacrificed. 

_Loved…_ She did love him, in a way. They were offspring of a dead god, there was no normalcy for them, together. His divine heritage had been stripped from him, he was a human now, nothing more. Even if somehow she could free them from Bhaal’s grip there was no chance at a peaceful, mortal life for them. They were considered siblings, he a wanted murderer and she a feared Bhaalspawn. There was no escaping their past. He was right, she was fooling herself.

It was just a dream, a false hope that kept her alive all of the dark years since Candlekeep. 

Something had changed in her after she became the Ravager, there was a shift deep within her. Perhaps the taint had finally gained a foothold in her mind, its sharp, insidious claws worming their way into her heart. Nessa had always been confused about her place in the world and loathed making decisions, but she held one thing sacred: life. It was painfully ironic, tragic even, that a Child of Murder would cling to life desperately. When she killed the first assassin in Candlekeep she had dropped to her knees, tears pouring down her face while she fought back choked sobs. 

Now her hands were dirty. Filthy. Drenched in the blood of her companions. She had slain hundreds, if not thousands of creatures, she had tortured a man to save Sarevok’s life. _Tortured_. She stood by and watched Sarevok brutalize him further, she could have stopped him but she didn’t. She just stood, silent. Not even turning away.

The only motivation that had kept her alive through the dark journey from Irenicus’ dungeon was saving Imoen. Her precious sister, the girl that she loved more than anyone else in the world. Once their souls were removed they had no choice but to hunt down Irenicus and Bodhi. In the midst of all of the chaos and pain there was a singular hope, that if their souls could be removed, maybe the taint could be as well. That perhaps there was a future for her as Nessa, as a mortal, not as a Bhaalspawn. Not just for her, but for Imoen too. 

She laid still, Sarevok’s heavy chest pressed against her back. Could Imoen ever forgive her for what she had done? 

Could she ever forgive herself? 

 

\-------------------------

 

Imoen tugged at a small pink braid, her fingers nervously turning it over and over again as nervous thoughts raced through her mind. She was in a room with Jaheira, the same room that they had shared with Poppy mere weeks before. 

“My child, you must rest,” Jaheira murmured groggily from her bed. 

“I don’t know how you can sleep, not when you know that they’re...together…,” Imoen’s voice was hollow and soft. 

Jaheira regretted telling Imoen about what Poppy had told her. Imoen shared her suspicions about the nature of Nessa and Sarevok’s relationship, and in a moment of weakness she had participated in useless gossip. It was wrong of her to expect to be able to discuss the situation with Imoen, the girl was too young, too attached to her sister. 

“What would you have me do?” Jaheira said and rolled over onto her other side. She pulled the rough sheet up over her shoulders. “Force my way into their room and demand an explanation? It is too late.”

“How can you be so calm about it?!” Imoen demanded. “He _murdered_ Gorion, you were there under Baldur’s Gate! All those people he’s killed, the assassins he sent after us! Am I the only one who remembers?!” She buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath. “Am I the only one who still cares?”

Jaheira pressed her eyes shut. “I have not forgotten, Imoen.”

“What about those Harpers? Isn’t it a bit strange that you suddenly don’t mind Sarevok being with us, you are fine with him _fucking_ his _half-sister_ , and we’re being attacked by _Harpers_?” Imoen’s voice took on an icy chill. “If I didn’t know better, I’d still think you were working with them.”

Jaheira’s eyes snapped open. She threw the sheet off herself and jerked up to a seated position, facing Imoen. 

“I had nothing to do with that, I was just as much a target as you! Why do you refuse to believe me, I have give everything that I ever loved to be at your side, to keep my word to Gorion! I do not interfere with your sister and Sarevok because I do not know what to do!” Jaheira’s steel-blue eyes were red-rimmed and hooded, tears formed in them as she stared at Imoen. “I have failed Nessa! It is too late now,” the druid’s voice caught and she wiped a tear from her cheek. “It is far too late.”

Imoen was shocked. She hadn’t seen Jaheira cry since Khalid died, but it wasn’t just her friend’s tears that surprised her. It was the defeat in her empty stare, the slope of her shoulders as her arms hung at her side, the sadness in her voice. 

“We follow Nessa because we have nowhere else to go, you know this as well as I,” Jaheira continued. “You are a Bhaalspawn too, or have you forgotten?”

Imoen bit her lip and looked down at her bare feet. “I know. I don’t want to leave Nessa, I just--she’s changing, Jaheira, something’s different about her, she keeps avoiding me, you, anyone but Sarevok…”

“She suffers, my child, can you not see it?”

“Why won’t she let me help her, Jaheira? Ever since we were little she’s always told me everything, she seems like this strong, smart elven girl but she used to just bottle everything up! Then, boom, she would come in my room and explode! She won’t talk to me about Haer’Dalis, and now this Sarevok thing? I feel like I don’t even know her anymore.” Imoen sighed and slumped forward in her seat. “What am I supposed to do, just watch her drift further and further away from me?”

“After Irenicus…” Jaheira began, but Imoen interrupted.

“Please. Don’t even start with Irenicus. I’m tired of that being everyone’s excuse! Oh, poor Imoen, poor broken little Imoen! I’m not some doll, I can put myself back together!” Imoen’s face was red, her tone sharp. 

Jaheira held her tongue. Imoen was right, after Irenicus everyone had begun to treat Imoen differently. The girl was tortured, physically and psychologically, when they found her in Spellhold she was barely clinging to sanity. They were all so glad to find her alive, but so horrified to find her in such a damaged state. Nessa forbade any mention of what had happened, she hunted Bodhi with a ferocity that she had never shown before. Nessa would do anything for her little sister, and if Jaheira had to guess, any distance between them was probably to protect Imoen.

“She loves you, Imoen, you know this.”

Imoen looked up at Jaheira. The girl’s pale blue eyes were so empty, they looked almost vacant beneath her thin, scarred brows. Scars littered Imoen’s face but they were barely visible except for the large one over her eye. Imoen refused to let anyone see her body, but Jaheira could only imagine the scars hidden beneath her robes. 

“I wish I believed that, Jaheira, but I feel like I just don’t know her anymore.”

Jaheira sighed and pulled her sheet up around her shoulders. It was true, but there was no point in discussing it now. It was too late. 

“We must stay by her side, Imoen, as she has stayed by ours. It is all we can do.” Jaheira laid back down in her bed and turned away from the young mage. “For now, sleep. Your body must rest, we can talk further in the morning.”

Imoen stared at the druid’s back, at the long, golden-brown braids scattered across her pillow. Jaheira was right, there was no use in worrying about it, not now. She was exhausted. Imoen felt guilty for implying yet again that Jaheira was working against them, but sometimes it seemed like there was no one she could really trust. Except for Nessa, of course. 

Minutes passed by like years in Spellhold, time meant nothing within the asylum’s walls. Imoen saw Nessa’s face in her dreams, it was a beacon of light in a sea of hopelessness, guiding her from the fear and the pain back to memories of better days. She clung to those memories, desperately, until finally they were taken, too. 

Then she remembered nothing. Blackness, silence, until she heard a familiar voice calling to her. Nessa had come for her, Jaheira was there as well, along with other faces she didn’t recognize.

They made a promise to each other, after Gorion was murdered. Two girls alone in the woods, terrified, unsure of where to go next. 

_We stick together, no matter what happens._

Nessa had kept her word. Now it was Imoen’s turn. 

She slipped beneath her rough sheets and rested her head on the threadbare pillow. She was detached from her experiences in Spellhold, they were compartmentalized to keep her sane. Sometimes a smell or a sound would trigger a memory and her mind would unravel, her body would shake violently for minutes, even hours. Nessa was there for her during those episodes, always. Imoen had dabbled in spells to help soothe her mind, as well as the odd glass of wine or pipe of black lotus. Her sister didn’t approve, but she understood and accepted it regardless. 

_She didn’t approve, but she understood..._

The realization was a punch to the gut. There were some burdens that Nessa couldn’t carry for Imoen, no matter how willing she was. Some memories were too painful to share, some thoughts too dark to put into words. What if it was the same for Nessa, now? Imoen had been so focused on the distance growing between them that she hadn’t been thinking about how hard all of this had to be for her sister. Maybe Sarevok...helped. Or at least understood? 

Imoen didn’t understand what was going on with her best friend, but she could accept her. She could trust that Nessa was trying her best. 

It was the least she could do, considering everything Nessa had done for her. 

She closed her eyes and slowly drifted to sleep. Jaheira was already fast asleep. Moonlight shone through their small window, shadowing the outline of their bodies beneath the rough linen sheets. 

A cluster of stars shone beside the full moon, sparkling against the black of the clear night sky. Imoen was not alone, the gods could not interfere but they had not abandoned the Bhaalspawn.

Her desperate cries for help were heard, stars guided Saemon Havarian’s ship to Brynnlaw and Nessa with it. A gentle hand kept them safe from Umberlee’s wrath. 

They were not alone.


End file.
